by Hazel Grace
“Not at all,” I reply, slowly closing the door behind me. Wade’s hand comes up to stop it from fully closing as he takes a step in my direction, his chest brushing mine.
“Introduce me,” he deadpans, now towering over me with his cocky, asshole demeanor.
I cock a brow. “Do you really want to do that, Governor?” He leans forward, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and whiskey.
“Do you think I give a flying fuck about that right now?”
“You better or the last few years of your life would be for nothing.” His mouth sets in a fine line before releasing the door to let me close it.
Taking a step back, he assesses me, taking in my skimpy Nike shorts and plain white tee. I’m not wearing shoes or socks, it makes me feel restricted, but now I wish I had.
I look like a hot mess. A girl who could’ve just gotten flipped upside down, eaten out, and fucked for the last thirty minutes.
“Who’s the dude?” Wade sneers, jerking his head towards the house. “I didn’t know you started seeing other guys.”
“Oh, while you have a wife at home, waiting for—” Wade’s hand slams into my door, and I know Andy heard that.
“One more time, Shelton,” he growls through his teeth. “I want to hear you call her my wife one more fucking time.”
“You don’t get to give me a time limit on how I’m supposed to feel,” I snap back.
“I’m giving you time, and you’re spending it with some asshole that tips.”
“He’s not—” Wade is on me within the next second. His hands grip my biceps, and he yanks me into his hard chest.
“You must need some reminding, baby. You told me you weren’t basic, so let me prompt you to how I’m not either.” His shoulder is in my abdomen as he tosses me over it, and begins to carry me around to the side of the house.
“Wade,” I yell-whisper. “I have neighbors.”
“Hopefully they’re older and in bed already.”
“They’re not.” He doesn’t answer, striding into the shadows of the trees from next door. My back is shoved into the white brick of my house, the sharp edges and points digging into my flesh, but he keeps his hands wrapped around my ass.
“Now,” he vouches matter-of-factly. “Who's the motherfucker in the house?”
“What are you doing here?”
“My question first.”
“You’re seriously making this into a bigger deal than it—” He presses his body into mine, digging my spine deeper into the jagged exterior of my house.
“I think having another man in your house, looking how you do right the fuck now, poses for something that should be taken very seriously.” My hands squeeze his shoulders as his head goes to the nape of my neck. “This election is driving me crazy, and there wasn’t anywhere or anyone else I wanted to go or see other than you.” His lips brush the column of my carotid artery as he inhales deeply.
“Well, you should’ve gone to see Emmy.” Wade licks my earlobe, sending a warm thrill between my legs.
I can hear his breathing, feel the hot breath leaving his nose like an animal. His hard body underneath his tailored suit impelled into mine. He looks so out of place right now in the grass, in between houses like we’re teenagers just trying to make out—he’s a fucking man of power for God’s sake.
And that’s what I like about him.
The odd and unconventional way he does things. How he’s not afraid to show me how he feels—which is agitated, but it’s still hot.
Wade places me down on my feet, letting me gain some space from the ridged house and hunches down, taking my shorts and panties with him. His hand lands behind my upper thigh, lifting it to place on his shoulder, and he goes right to my clit.
No teasing.
No hesitation.
His tongue licks while his lips clasp around it, followed by a humming sound of approval.
Yes, I’m already wet for this man, I’m not ashamed to be because, fuck me, he’s one of the most exhilarating and aggravating men I’ve ever met in my life.
“Wade,” I breathe. “Andy is just—” His hand that still holds onto my thigh, squeezes.
“So the motherfucker has a name,” he growls followed by another long, slow lick up my slit.
“Geezus,” I gasp, my knees starting to give out a little. “He’s my best—”
“Woman, I swear to fucking God, if you say something stupid right now, I will fuck you so hard against this brick wall that it’ll leave that pretty face looking like you got into a fight with it.”
“I’m not,” I snap. “Fuck, will you just let me finish my goddamn sentence?”
“There’s only one thing I want to hear leaving your lips, baby, and it sure as hell isn’t some other fucker’s name. Say the magical words and we’ll be done.”
“Done with what?” I seethe. “I didn’t do anything wrong and you man-handling me isn’t going to work.”
“That’s why I’m going to eat this pussy until you’re so fucking tired of coming that it’ll just slip from your lips.”
“What do you want now?” Another stroke of his tongue and he’s peering up at me, lips wet from eating me out like he was starving.
He licks them, keeping his eyes connected with mine, then says, “I want you to tell me that I’m not imagining this.” My brows immediately snap together.
He knows what he’s asking me to do—admitting.
His warm breath grazes my skin, coaxing me to say what he needs me to say. He loves me, it’s been repeating in my head all week.
I love him too, but I can’t put myself in that vulnerable state. He already has control over my body. I won’t let him have power over my heart.
“Two words,” Wade urges, still lowered on his feet. “I’m not.” My next inhale is a shaky one. I want to say them but at what cost?
“I...I—” He straightens his spine, rising up to ascend over me. One of his hands cups my cheek, the other attaches to my waist. The glint in his face is softer as he brushes the pad of his thumb over my cheek.
“I’d do anything for you,” he quips gently. “And I want to know that I’m not the only one who feels something—that’s all. I’m letting my guard down a little to let you know that this is real for me. I would give this all up, Shelton. I will drop out of this thing if you just tell me—”
“No,” I chide. “You can’t drop out of the election.”
“You mean more to me, Shelton, so much more.”
“And you want me to what—” I shrug. “—sit back and let you give up your dream?”
“I just want to know that I own a piece of you that no one else can have like you do for me. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” My words barely come out as a whisper as he lowers his head to mine.
“That’s all, baby.” His lips gently press into mine, persuading me to open wider so he can take what he needs—me.
He wants something that I’m not ready to give. The only thing I can offer is my body because I need everything else to keep me sane—alive. He could do so many things to the vital organ I know he wants to touch, leaving me at his mercy.
Not in this lifetime.
I may have given it to Jed once upon a time, but I destroyed us. Right now, I have too much riding on the line. But since I’m older, wouldn’t I have more common sense? More drive to get over a heartbreak? I can drink for fuck sakes, so there’s always that.
“You’re thinking about it too much,” Wade mutters, pressing his forehead to mine. “Who’s the guy inside?”
“Andy, he’s my best friend.”
“Do you…” He knows not to finish because it’ll send me reeling back into a hostile mood and two steps back from the progress we’ve made.
“No, he’s gay,” I reply. “But if you’re interested…”
He smiles. “I’m good, thanks.” We stand in muffled chaos of crickets and a dog barking obnoxiously somewhere in my neighborhood. A car drives by and reality creeps its ugly head
back between us again.
“I’m going to get going before your friend and your food gets here.” He moves away from me, and I instantly miss him.
It shouts more than it should. That he means something to me, an entity to my everyday life. I let him seep into my veins yet I keep fighting it.
My traitorious hands grip the lapels of his suit, tugging him back into my space as I press a kiss to his lips. Large hands grip my waist again, tugging me into his body as our breaths, mouths, and hidden desires mix together.
I wish I could admit out loud that I have a greed for this man who puts a front up for everyone in this world but me.
I envy not being able to forget the last few weeks as much as I want to. It’d be so much easier.
“Get inside,” Wade finally orders, brushing my arms with the palms of his hands. “It’s cold out here.”
“I’m…” I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I can’t fully forgive you.
I’m sorry I can’t give you my heart.
I’m sorry you’re going through shit.
I’m just sorry.
He gives me a weak smile before saying, “I know.”
♫ Alone in a Room — Asking Alexandria ♫
I took the night off per Emmy’s nagging, sitting in my front room as I stare mindlessly at the TV. I don’t know what’s on, just hear the mumbling of people talking in the background of the chaos brewing in my head.
I should’ve never gone to Reagan’s house—fully aware that I’m stepping deeper into bullshit. That she’ll never be safe with me. But we—I—can’t fight the attraction that comes between us.
My brain has thrown a few scenarios around ones that seem more tempting as the weeks go by.
I can give everything up and live the life of a free man. One not bound by news headlines and shady politicians. I may have worked my whole life to get here but misery is still the black cloud that follows me everywhere.
My phone buzzes next to me for the third time tonight. It’s her, looking for Chase, wanting to ask him how his day was and how he is. I want to make him a distant fucking memory because I’m jealous of a persona that is me behind the face of my human best friend.
Our conversations together as Chase have become shorter and shorter as I try to wean him away from her.
I want to be the only thing she thinks about.
The person she texts to check in on and wants to know about. And the fact that she still texts my alter ego bugs the everliving hell out of me.
I’m not sharing her with anyone and, in return, I don’t expect her to share me with Demi either, or anyone else. My real-life Chase is drawing up divorce papers so that I have them. I haven’t watched the polls, honestly, don’t really care anymore like I should because I’ve spent years trying to make this happen. But when I think of my future, it involves normal nights at home with Reagan on the couch watching Netflix and my fucking her on said furniture.
Nothing about being president calls out to me anymore. Not as much as it should. No amount of pep that Em alludes on a daily basis sparks any new excitement in me. That part of me is dying while the piece of my being that I’ve tucked deep within myself wants to thrive off Reagan.
A soft knock immediately yanks me out of my thoughts as I glance over at the dark oak door of my penthouse.
Striding through my space, I don’t bother looking through the peephole. I’m anxious, hell-bent on releasing some frustration, so I’m already ready to snap at the next person in my line of sight.
I just never expected it to be my younger brother, Lucas.
Standing there with his head bowed into his chest, he looks like shit. His dark brown hair is longer, the stubble on his face displays that he forgot what hygiene is, and now he’s placed outside my home with a pitiful stance and my full attention.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I seethe, hand still resting on my door because I’m about three seconds away from slamming it in his face.
“I needed to talk to you,” he mumbles, not pulling his face up to mine.
He’s never been here before—none of them have. I’ve kept my family so far away from my life that I don’t even know how the hell Lucas found me.
“We haven’t had shit to say to each other for years,” I retort with furrowed brows. “Did you fuck another thirteen-year-old and need help with—” His head jerks up to me.
“I’m not here for that,” he counters, blue eyes filled with remorse and embarrassment. “I’m here because I’ve been getting phone calls.”
“Awesome, you have a phone that works.”
“It’s about Demi. About your relationship, why we’re never around you. Someone —”
“It’s no concern of yours to worry about my shit,” I upbraid. “Just hit the red button and don’t answer the calls.”
“They’re at the house. They follow me everywhere I go, and I can’t—I can’t handle the flashing of the cameras and them rushing my car every time I leave. They keep asking me if I’ve ever…”
I perk a brow. “If you’ve ever, what?” He drags his eyes from me, the same shade as mine, the identical glimmer of sadness that I’ve once felt.
“If I’ve ever...if I ever molested Camila and Phoebe.” My hand grips the door harder, while it takes everything in me not to seize his black puffer jacket and yank him inside to beat the living shit out of him.
“Did you?” I berate.
He flicks his attention back to me with broad eyes. “They’re my sisters.”
“Never stopped you before from fucking someone else’s sister.” Lucas takes a sudden step in my direction. He’s not taller than me but close, and we’re almost a fucking duplicate of each other except his nose is a tad crooked from getting his ass kicked a few times from brothers of the said sisters he was screwing.
“Here’s a little fun fact for you,” Lucas grits out between his teeth. “I never fucked anyone under the age of eighteen. That was your wife that got me accused of that.”
Fucking Christ.
“Do you know how many times she’s tried getting me caught for shit like that—publicly? How many times I would wake up to a fucking freshman in my bed, naked and sucking my cock? That Demi would send fleets of girls my way, who were underage, still sucking from their mom’s tits, to try and get me to fuck them.”
He takes a step away from me.
“I take that back, Brother, I did fuck someone underage. Her name was Amanda—nice fucking girl, fake ID and everything. I screwed her in the backseat of my car at a bar when I was twenty, she was thirteen. Had tits the size of watermelons and makeup painted on her face to make her look older. I took her fucking virginity that night, and when I broke through that barrier—is when it all came crashing in on me. Fun part...was when Demi was outside the backseat window, recording it all.”
I move to the side, my whole body sagging in defeat at the thought that more havoc rained on my siblings from my taking back my mistake. “Come in.”
Lucas hesitates before following my order, cautiously studying my space like I have a firing squad at the ready for him. Closing the door, I lock it and go to my mini bar to pour us a drink.
“Nice digs,” Lucas mutters behind me.
“Thanks. You like whiskey?” I don’t even know.
I sadly know nothing about my brother.
“Yeah.”
Drinks poured, I hand his over and take a hefty swig before saying, “Continue.”
“I honestly don’t even know where to start.” He studies the dark liquid in his glass, swirling it around. He’s either nervous or he doesn’t like talking about it.
Either way, I need to know everything that I’ve obviously been oblivious to.
“Start wherever,” I convey. “And I’ll ask questions if I get lost.” Lucas downs his drink before starting, unzipping his coat to get somewhat comfortable.
“I admitted to shit I never did because it was your life or fucking mine. You were in college, going places. I was
the son that Dad never paid much attention to, and I liked that. I never wanted this world, I fucking loathe it. I liked football and baseball and was happy with just that and my friends. You—” A mirthless chuckle escapes his lips. “—you got a fucking hard-on every time someone mentioned the word ‘president’.”
I shrug. “So? Why didn’t you open your mouth and just—”
“Were you listening?” he snaps. “Video. Recording. Me fucking a minor. The push of one button sends it worldwide to every newspaper in the state and beyond. We did have the internet back then like that, Wade, it’s called an email.”
And there’s that Lockwood temper.
Lucas and I might not know each other very well, but it looks like he didn’t lose all of himself over the years.
I shake my head. “I don’t believe you.”
His jaw ticks, like he was expecting me not to. Why should I? I can understand Phoebe and Camila but not Lucas.
Nah, not when him and I told each other everything. Not when we were so close that I knew every stupid thing he did as a kid and how I would always cover for him. When I knew which girl in school gave him a hard-on and which were a bad fuck. That I was aware of all his fears and aspirations. I knew he didn’t like politics. I was also mindful of how he wanted to go to Harvard just to piss Dad off.
So all this talk about Demi and setting him up, I need more than just fear and saving my ass.
“I just want these motherfuckers away from me,” Lucas grounds out. “Think you can manage taking care of that for me?”
“If they’re even there.”
“Motherfuck—you know what dickhead, don’t make me regret saving your whole fucking life because you think you’re better than me.”
“Never said or thought that.”
“Then get a clue. Not only is my life at risk but she’s testing you. She’s warning our family that if you don’t take that bitch to the White House, she’ll destroy us all. I know you don’t personally give a shit, but I’d like to walk around without ‘child rapist’ tied to my fucking name.”
I stare at him because, for once, I don’t have much more to say. My brother used to be the big mouth he is right now. We did what typical brothers who were two years apart did—we fought, watched sports, and smoked.
