Another Notch in the Beltway

by L. A. Long

  He wrapped his free hand around her waist and ground his erection into her pelvis.

  “I’ll take what’s mine, Corrine, if you won’t offer it. I’m tired of you denying me.”

  Corrine was panicked as he pushed her down on to the bed. His full weight was on top of her. She couldn’t breathe. “Stop,” she sobbed. “Please stop.”

  He didn’t. He seemed possessed. Maxwell got a hand between them and ripped off her underwear and then somehow opened his fly. He forcibly parted her knees with his own and violently shoved into her.

  The pain rippled through her. He was thrusting into her hard and fast. Each invasion designed to humiliate and punish her. Tears escaped her eyes. She thought the brutal assault would never end.

  When he’d spent his semen in her, with a grunt he finally stopped. Then Byron got up and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Sorry,” he had said, running a hand over his face, stuffing himself into pants, and leaving the room.

  Six weeks later, and much to her distress and dismay, she had found out she was pregnant.

  Corrine had prayed that she’d miscarry, even thought of having an abortion but couldn’t face the fallout at the time.

  Now she had massive guilt over her second son’s illness. Because of his traumatic conception, she had never bonded with him, and now he was most likely terminal. Although it appeared that Byron was attempting contact with his illegitimate child in an effort to save Jack’s life. Did he deserve praise or was this simply another self-centered act?

  She almost didn’t care. She was going to destroy her husband, even if she destroyed herself and others along with him. Corrine was not about to see Maxwell as president, and she was not under any circumstances going to be his First Lady. She wanted to be free. Free of him, free of Jack and his illness, free of the overwhelming sadness and anger that now filled her life.

  Later that day Corrine went to see Jack. She knew it was simply out of a guilty obligation, but she went anyway.

  She quietly entered his private room and saw him dozing. He had looked so much like his father until the cancer got him. Now he looked like a cross between a shriveled child and a dried-up old man—sad, maybe even tragic. She had certainly become the object of pity among her circle of friends and acquaintances. Truth was, she knew lots of people but couldn’t think of one true friend. Because of her marital situation, she kept a distance from everyone. She wanted no one to see the cracks and fissures of her life. D.C. high society would have had a field day with her if they’d had an inkling of what her life was like. Yet she was going to expose it all.

  She looked back at her son and was about to sneak out when he said, “Yeah, go ahead and leave. Tell the nurses you were here and found me sleeping. You left, because you didn’t want to disturb me.” He gave a bitter laugh and started to cough uncontrollably.

  Corrine went to the bed and held a glass with a straw for him to sip.

  Jack feebly wrenched the glass from her hand, threw the straw at her, spotting her silk suit, and drained the contents quickly.

  He started to laugh again, as his mother futilely tried to blot water from her jacket.

  “Sorry, about that, Corrine. Hope you don’t have an important luncheon to attend after spending time with your terminally ill son.”

  He’d taken to calling both her and Byron by their first names but she didn’t care.

  Corrine inhaled a deep breath. “Are you okay?”

  “As opposed to what? Taking a dirt nap?”

  She looked at him and then said, “You may be ill but that does not give you license to be rude.”

  “Of course it does. It gives me leave to do exactly what I want. Too bad I can’t do much. I’d like to be fucking some well-endowed blonde but can’t seem to rise to the occasion.” Jack started laughing again and the cough came with it.

  This time Corrine stood there and watched him cough himself into exhaustion.

  “Bitch,” Jack spat breathlessly once he stopped coughing.

  “Thank you for the compliment. A gift I developed a little late in life. Had I developed it earlier, I think I’d be in a different place today.”

  “Hell?”

  “No, this is hell.”

  “Look, Corrine, I don’t know why you and Byron come here all the time. You don’t want to. It’s all about appearances.”

  Tired of the game with her son, she replied, “Yes, it is, so I think I’ll sit here for an appropriate time and then leave.”

  “It has been noticed that you and the senator never visit together. Have you thought about that?”

  “We’re both busy people. The only thing that matters is that we visit you.”

  “Right. Come up with any donors or a donor?” Jack asked with a surly edge.

  “No, but I think your father may have a bastard out there he’s trying to convince.”

  “Do I have a half brother or half sister?”

  “A brother, I believe.”

  “I’ll be damned. Old man was a stallion. Maybe still is.”

  “Fact is he could be a match.”

  “Not much more likely than the general population. We only share one parent.”

  “Thank God,” she said under her breath.

  “Could you say that again, Corrine? I don’t think I heard you.”

  “It’s worth a shot if he can convince the kid,” she replied, ignoring his comment. She knew damn well he heard.

  “Yeah, right. This guy anyone I know?”

  “Don’t know. If it’s who I think it is, maybe, he goes to Georgetown. Ask your father.”

  “Perhaps I will. Give us something to talk about at least.”

  “You do that,” Corrine said, absently blotting at a water spot that had spread over the silk, making the material look grease-stained. She sighed with disgust. “I need to leave. I planned to stay longer, but I need to go home and change before my DAR meeting.”

  “Glad to give you an excuse to leave.”

  “You flung the straw at me.”

  “It was an accident,” he smirked.

  “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow or the next day,” Corrine said distractedly.

  “Don’t put yourself out, and don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “No, no, no,” Lenore said vehemently.

  They were working in her office late Monday evening. They’d spent most of the day making up.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Michael Patrick said with a hint of humor.

  “Amanda is not that fickle. She wouldn’t look to her agent for solace after a fight with Casper. Sure, she might talk to him as a brother-type friend with no benefits, but she wouldn’t fall into his arms.”

  “Jake Bishop is attracted to her. He’s been pushing his feelings for her under every time they surface. But this is the first time he’s afraid of truly losing his chance with her forever.”

  “Ugh, but she’s not attracted to Bishop that way. Not now, not ever,” she persisted.

  “How about this then,” he waited until she focused on him. “Bishop kisses your Amanda, and Cass walks in, misunderstands what he sees—rightfully so, I might add—and walks out. He doesn’t see Amanda push Jake away and read him the riot act. Amanda doesn’t know that Cass saw the kiss.”

  “I don’t like it, but in the spirit of compromise, okay.”

  He laughed. “You have very strong feelings about all your characters?”

  “I do. I’ve had characters that are fickle or wishy-washy in their hearts, but Amanda Loring is not one of those women.”

  “I see.”

  She looked into his dancing blue eyes and had to smile. “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Not at all. I’m intrigued by how your mind works. How you embrace your craft and your characters’ plights.”

  Lenore eyed him suspiciously.

  “I mean it.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “And I do appreciate your willin
gness to compromise.”

  “You’re surprised I did.”

  “Yes and no. Yes, because you told me the first day here you might take over, and no, because you didn’t compromise your character’s traits, but rather her agent did.”

  “Exactly, and if I were writing this book alone, Amanda would have sensed Jake’s attraction and nipped it soundly in the bud.”

  “Would she now, lass?”

  “You bet.”

  “Interesting. How about this? Jake makes moves on your Amanda. She soundly rebuffs him, as you say. Jake then tells Cass that he’s an ass and if he doesn’t get his shit together he’s going to lose her.”

  “It could work, and we could still do that, but I think your original idea works better. It gives more texture and physicality to the scene and conflict to the story.”

  Pleased, he leaned over and kissed her. “That’s high praise coming from LaSandra Lacy.”

  “Ms. Lacy’s life is not one given to compromise. Ms. Held’s, on the other hand—”

  “Is one of compromise and adaptability,” he suggested.

  “Yes, when you raise a child, you…” She saw a cloud cross his face. “I’m sorry, MP,” she said gently and reached for his hand.

  “It’s all right, mo chuisle.” Raising their joined hands, he kissed hers. “Once in a while, the grief still hits me at odd times.”

  She nodded her empathy. She could not possibly understand what it felt like to lose a child in the way MP had.

  Clearing his throat, he asked, “So how long is Cass going to be angry with Amanda?”

  “Don’t know. It’s a man thing. Your deal, Mr. Finnegan.”

  “He’s pretty stubborn and insecure when it comes to Amanda.”

  “Cass is a pain in the ass,” Lenore laughed. “Talk about high maintenance.”

  “Will your lass walk away?”

  “Maybe she should. She’s been fighting his walls and insecurities. She’s getting tired of it.”

  “He’s not worth it?”

  “Since we need an HEA, he has to be at some point, but I think I’ll let Cass come to her. Tell her that he wants her and that Jake Bishop can’t. Or maybe she walks in on Jake and Cass going at it over Bishop kissing her. Your call, MP. I’ll play off of whatever you’re willing to give me.”

  “Will you, love?” He smiled and kissed her nose.

  “I will, love.” She grinned and kissed his mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Have they had any luck with finding a donor for Jack?” Corrine asked Byron as they sat rigidly at the dining room table, each picking at their respective meals.

  “Lots of volunteers. No matches yet, but the National Database will get a number of potential new donors as a result.”

  Many of the senator’s supporters and people with big hearts had come forward to be tested.

  “That’s good,” Corrine said, with meaning. “What are we going to do now? Wait for him to die? Watch him get sicker? What about going with the best match? I know there are potential ramifications, but at this point, how many options are there?”

  “He’s too weak. If the match isn’t almost perfect, chances are he will die.”

  Corrine took a sip of her wine, not saying anything.

  “I’m going to appeal to the student body at Georgetown for help. I’ve had Morris write a piece for the school newspaper,” he said.

  Actually, it was Morris’s idea to begin with. Good cover story in case Nate was a match, and if he wasn’t, possibly potential donors would come forward who could be a match. They were getting desperate. That’s why he went to Lenore in the first place.

  “He’s going to die,” Corrine said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “We don’t know that, Corrine,” Maxwell said, almost kindly.

  She didn’t respond, merely looked at her once-handsome husband and noted he looked as haggard and tired as she did. She took perverse pleasure in that.

  “Have you seen Jack today?” Maxwell asked.

  “I did, but he didn’t want to see me.”

  “I’ll go by later tonight.”

  “Suit yourself, but he does not want either of us there. Says we only come because it would look bad if we didn’t. I suppose he has a point,” she said sadly.

  He reached out to touch her arm, and she flinched away. “Please don’t,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, withdrawing his hand. “I wish things were different.”

  He sounded sincere, but she knew he was a con, and she was not falling for it. “But they’re not.” She stood abruptly, tossing her napkin on the table, and left.

  ****

  The senator sat and finished his wine, the wine in the bottle, and finally what remained in his wife’s glass. Truly foxed, he decided he was in no state to visit his critically ill son.

  Maxwell moved to his library and poured himself a double scotch. He slumped into his desk chair, closed his eyes, and slowly sipped from the glass. Jack thinks that no one cares if he lives or dies, Maxwell thought. His son’s existence was his doing alone. The old adage, it takes two to tango, did not apply here. When his wife got pregnant with Jack, she was not doing the tango. It was one of the few things in his life he regretted.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Later in the week, Lenore and MP were taking a break for lunch after a very productive morning of writing. The sunlight flooded her kitchen, making it feel as warm and cozy as the hot chocolate warming on the stove. A delicious smell filled the room.

  “In Victorian times, hot chocolate was a luxury for only the ultra-wealthy,” Lenore said.

  “Shaving Belgium milk chocolate to stir into hot milk over a double boiler is quite a treat in the current age. It’s a far cry from the powdered stuff you nuke in the microwave.”

  “It tastes better.”

  “You bet it does, mo chuisle.”

  He got up to give her a kiss. “And the homemade whipped cream…”—he dipped his finger into the bowl and traced her lips with it, then devoured her mouth—“is better than the hot chocolate.”

  “Really?”

  “Let’s be sure.”

  He repeated the prior exercise but didn’t stop at her lips. He drew a line down her neck to the peak of cleavage he could see above the V of her sweater. Using his tongue, he then followed the path he’d made.

  Lenore moved closer and molded her hips to his, feeling his desire for her.

  “I think we need to turn off the stove and adjoin to a user-friendly surface,” he suggested.

  “Yes, but now it’s my turn to dabble with the whipped cream.” She picked up the bowl and led him to the bedroom.

  “I’m a willing dabblee.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  Her dancing eyes and beautiful smile left him more breathless than thoughts of the white confection.

  “What?” She laughed, taking in his look of awe.

  “You.” He pulled her to him and cupped her bottom. “You are the most incredible woman.”

  Her eyes continuing to glisten, she said, “You’re pretty incredible yourself.”

  He pulled her even tighter and kissed her possessively. At that moment, he realized he’d never been properly in love before.

  Gently he lifted the bottom of her sweater and let it drift to the floor. Her nipples already aroused, he kissed them through the pink silk of her bra. She arched into him, causing him to moan.

  “I’m going to make passionate love to you, a chuisle.”

  “Yes, oh yes.”

  He leaned her onto the bed and slowly undressed her, teasing and tantalizing her along the way.

  “My turn,” she said when she was totally nude.

  “Not yet, I want to enjoy looking at you, arousing you, watching your skin flush as you come.”

  She blushed.

  “A deeper shade of pink than you are now.” He ran a finger from the hollow between her breasts to her clitoris. Making lazy circles, he leaned to suckle her b
reasts. Then his finger continued downward and entered her slick passage; he added two more. Her breathing hitched and her muscles contracted around his fingers. She was close.

  “Come for me, Lenore.” She did with unselfconscious abandon. MP liked that he had the ability to make her forget herself.

  He lay down with her, still fully clothed, while she snuggled into him. Michael Patrick pulled the blanket over her and kissed her forehead, eyes, nose, and finally her lips. “You are the most extraordinary shade of rose,” he said, looking into the facets of her eyes.

  “I feel like a burning bush.”

  “That’s an interesting visual.”

  “Maybe we can ignite,” she said, straddling him and going to work on his buttons.

  ****

  The insistent ring of the phone startled Lenore awake. Heart pounding, she grabbed it and swiftly left the room so as not to wake MP. Caller ID showed it was Nathan. She took the phone to a small lofted sitting area.

  “Hi, honey,” she said in an unused voice.

  “Did I wake you, Mom?” asked Nate.

  “I was dozing.”

  “Right.”

  “I was,” she said defensively.

  “Okay, you were dozing. I wanted to let you know that I went to be tested this afternoon, and I should know if I’m a match within forty-eight hours or so.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “No big deal. But they did both a blood test and cheek swab. They usually do one or the other. I guess they’re being extra careful since its Senator Maxwell’s kid they’re testing for.”

  “You’re most likely right.”

  “Yeah, but I was wondering if you and your new boyfriend wanted to come and have dinner with Kelly and me this weekend. By then, I figure we’ll need to talk about the transplant or we can celebrate the fact that I’m not a match.”

  “Sure, I’ll check with Michael Patrick and see if he’s free. But I’ll be there for sure. I want to meet the young woman who’s made a place in my son’s heart.”

  “Ditto for you, Mom. Except for age and gender.” He laughed again. She was glad to see he was in a good mood.

  “Hey, we’re not that old.”

  “Nope, you’re hot for a mom.”