by Amy Faye
The spell breaks almost immediately when he decides that it's time to abandon the subject. Linda notes that she still hasn't answered his question, not really. Tom won't have missed it, but if he lets it go then she's happy regardless.
She pours out the now-full pot into a couple of cups. Tom stands up.
"Thank you. I've got to make a few calls." He takes the cup and leaves, and Linda is left wondering what the hell just happened, and what he just learned. That she didn't want him knowing it is a foregone conclusion.
Chapter Fourteen
Linda Owens settled into her couch and turned on the TV. It was likely the last day before the bombshell dropped. They'd be vetting the story now. Whoever ran it first—it read like tabloid smut, so they would probably be the ones to do it—would get plenty of play for at least a couple of days.
The others would be kicking themselves for getting scooped.
And Linda Owens would be hoping to hell that the story turned into a big nothing burger. It was a risk. A hell of a risk, to be honest, and there was no way that they could play it straight no matter what happened.
Nobody hacked straight through a problem, not even someone as straight-forward and as untouchable as Adam Quinn. Nobody would be surprised that Adam had been there. It had the stickiness that they wanted. Something that wouldn't just slide right off.
The problem wasn't that people wouldn't forgive him for it, either. He was a known quantity, thank God, and he was known for this kind of thing, so nobody would freak out. Not really.
The problem was that it didn't damage his personal brand but it reinforced the idea that many were concerned about that he wasn't electable. That if they put him into the office, the Democrats would never get the seat back because they'd forever be the laughingstock of the world.
A president who cavorts around with prostitutes and sluts, who spends his time at sex parties when he should be—who knows. At some kind of monastery, Linda supposed. There were few men who worked harder than Adam Quinn, regardless of the number of sex parties he went to.
A number that can't possibly have been as high as some would suggest. But what if he were going to as many as some thought? That would be— That would be a truly intimidating amount of sex. No way.
Linda lays her head back. The news coverage is thinning out. They're talking about pop stars now. Which is to say, back to the usual news cycle. A holding pattern until something real juicy comes along that they can devote all their coverage to.
Well, don't worry, Ellen—Tom Delaney's on the job, and he's not going to leave you without a story to report on for long. If you play a nice puppet, he'll make sure you don't have to ever know what it feels like not to be dancing.
She let her mind drift. It was a luxury she could rarely allow herself. Everything was in reacting and covering bases. There was a distinct advantage in being so far out ahead of the story that there hadn't been any press about it.
It allows time to breath. Time to think. Time to plan, and time to get real creative with responses. Linda might have been good at it, if she'd been given the chance before. Now was her chance to figure it out.
But instead, her mind just reeled back to Tom's gravelly voice. Flat and prodding, not curious at all. As if he knew the answer, but he wanted to make her say it. Why had she been at that party?
She hadn't been lying to him, though. Avoiding the question, sure. But not lying. Why she'd gone was a question that she'd been asking herself since it all blew up in her face.
What had gotten into her? What had convinced her that it would be a good idea to go to a place where she fit in so poorly? She wasn't exceptionally adventurous. What sort of 'sex party' was going to let her move slow, exploring the boundaries of lovemaking beyond the usual?
None that she knew of. Which meant that it was out of character for her. But people don't just do that. Not even her. There are reasons for people's actions, and it stands to reason that there are reasons for her actions, as well.
What her reasons were… that was a question she didn't know the answer to. She'd wanted to get laid. That was the obvious answer, and it was deficient. She knew—or, she should have known—that it wasn't that simple. She should have known that there would be things that tested her limits when she got there.
Which had to mean that she wanted to have her limits pushed. When she'd gotten there, faced with that fact, she'd shut down. But there was something in her, some spark, that wanted to see where the limit really was.
Right?
Linda's nipples start to harden. Is there a chill in the room? She pulls her sweater tighter around her shoulders and turns to lay down in the couch.
Was there something wrong with that? Was that strange, to want something… else? Whatever that was. She could have had it, if she wanted it. She didn't need to go out to find strangers to sleep with. She knew plenty of debauched men. They were exactly the kind of people who hired her in the first place.
But something had drawn her to that place, instead. Something had made her want to go into a situation where she'd have control and she'd have deniability, but she'd be available.
What had Delaney wanted her to say, anyways? Why had he been so insistent on her answering him? There was an answer he wanted. Linda was sure of that. A specific answer.
He was good at reading people, but more than that, he was good at smelling blood in the water and going after it. He didn't know she was lying when she said she didn't know because she showed some sort of obvious tell.
She didn't think she knew, but as her fingers start to trace lines around the fabric of her jeans, teasing closer to the inside of her thighs without ever quite getting there, something in her is willing to admit that there were reasons. She wanted something that she wasn't ready to admit to herself, never mind anyone else.
But Tom—Tom Delaney knew exactly what it was. He sensed her weakness, sensed her uncertainty, knew it for what it was, and wanted… something. Wanted to be there when she finally broke down and admitted it, maybe?
Or wanted to show her what she was missing out on?
Chapter Fifteen
There were many things that Adam Quinn could have been doing with his evenings. There was one in particular he wanted to be doing, which he was slowly realizing, but there were good reasons that he shouldn't. So he wasn't going to, and for a time, Linda's chastity, however imagined, would be safe.
That was good. It made him feel better, in a sort of far-away kind of way, but it didn't help the itch that he was feeling. It didn't make the want go away, and the truth was that Adam Quinn was about as good at self-denial as anyone else.
Not very good, and not able to do it for very long. When you've got the kind of money, and with it the kind of power, that the entire Quinn empire had amassed for him, though… little excesses are bigger than usual, so to speak.
So it wasn't exactly a common experience for Adam Quinn to have to tell himself no, and it was particularly unusual for him to listen to that voice.
His hands balled up into fists before he knew what he was doing. There was nothing to be done for it, then. His phone was on the table, where it couldn't do any damage, and it ought to stay there. But the urge to go and grab it was building faster than his self-control could brick off the thought.
He stood and picked it up. His thumb hovered over the contact. He could drop his thumb, and it would call. There was a chance that he'd be refused. He'd been turned down before; it wouldn't be something new. But he'd been surprised by the lack of a refusal before, too.
He didn't expect her to refuse, though. Not the way that she'd been looking at him that night. The anonymity, however imagined, had let her show what she wanted, but that person was buried inside her, mask or no.
His thumb fell onto the screen, and he put the phone to his ear. His blood pumped through his veins harder than it should have, desire tugging at the crotch of his pants.
"Linda? You up?"
Her voice had a far-away quality to it. "
Yeah, I'm up."
It took him a moment to register what he heard, and when he realized the distracted, tense quality in her voice as arousal that hadn't quite reached its conclusion, his manhood twitched automatically at the idea.
"Come to my apartment."
"Is something wrong?"
"We need to talk."
"How worried should I be?"
"As worried as you want to be," he answers, knowing full well that she'll worry more after he says it.
"I'm on my way."
He sets the phone down. He imagines her pulling herself back together, trying to get herself looking presentable. By the time that she arrives, smelling nothing like sex, she'll have complete deniability.
His teeth feel sharp. His tongue explores their pointed edges absent-mindedly. The wait is almost exquisite by itself. His phone rings and he picks it up automatically.
"I'm here. What's up?"
"Come on up, I'll get the door." He walks across the room as he speaks, pressing the button to open the front as he finishes the sentence. Somewhere far away, a buzz goes out, and he hears the door close behind her faintly.
"Which one are you?"
"I'll step into the hall," he says softly, and does so.
She's dressed professionally, just like he expected, and she looks as put-together as she ever has. Yet, she'd come in quite a hurry, at the same time. It was almost a surprise, but not enough to change his mind about what she'd been up to when he called.
"Are you alright? It's not too late, is it?"
He asks, knowing first that it doesn't matter, and second that she would deny it regardless. Further, knowing that it isn't too late.
"It's no problem. What did you want to talk to me about?"
His teeth still feel sharp in his mouth, and he wants nothing more than to sink them into her sensitive flesh. "We'll talk inside."
He steps back through the door and back into his apartment. She follows him inside and he shuts the door, and then the tone of the conversation shifts automatically.
"Is everything okay?"
"What were you doing at that party, Linda?"
Her face goes red and her eyes widen, but they turn away from him. "Is that what this is about?"
"I don't doubt that Tom wanted to know, too. Is that right?"
"I don't see—"
"Did you tell him?"
"No." She's squirming. It's a look that Adam likes. There's a little part of him that can't quite refuse that little desire to see her nervous.
"That's good." He steps closer to him, and for a moment he can see her relax, as if something threatened for an instant to overwhelm her nerves, and then she tenses back up and gets herself back under control.
"What's good? Why?"
He's right on the edge of her personal space. Intrusive, but not quite in her face. Not yet.
"You didn't tell him."
"What's that mean?"
He steps closer again. There's no more question of whether or not he's inside her space. He is, and he likes it. She doesn't move away, even though she's far from cornered.
"It means he doesn't get to have you," Adam says softly. "Not that I'd let that stand."
"What?"
"Don't lie to me," Adam says. He steps closer again, his body touching hers, his face only inches away from her own. "Don't play coy. You were there because you wanted something, and you left because you found out what it was. And you knew you weren't going to get it."
She looks up at him. He can see the force of will that it takes to stay still, her jaw tight as she holds herself still.
"And what's that?"
"To be taken," Adam answers. His tongue runs along the edge of his teeth again. They feel wrong in his mouth. They should be biting into a woman's soft throat. Her throaty breaths coming hard into his ear. "To be possessed by someone. Someone who takes what they wants. And now, I'm going to give that to you."
She takes a sharp breath and his lips find her neck, and she can't stop her voice from coming out just a bit as he finally takes what he wants.
Chapter Sixteen
Adam can feel the moment that she gives into him. Her body, suddenly pliable in his arms, like putty. And then she seems to find herself again, out of the blue. She stiffens and pushes back. Not to stop him, per se, but a fire lights inside and her mouth starts to move as well, wrestling for control of the kiss.
He smiles a grin that's full of teeth and scrapes them against her neck, biting down hard enough to pull a gasp from her lips, close to his ears. He shivers hard, the threat of growing arousal that's already well past the point of creeping down his spine.
It runs through him, his cock twitching painfully. He leans into her and his arms wrap around her hips, pulling her closer as his knee slips between her thighs and spreads them. She lets him, he knows. He can feel the heat, pooled at the place where her legs meet, as she presses herself down onto him, trying to take what she wants.
Adam starts to lean, pressing her back into the sofa behind her. She acquiesces. The older man continues to press his advantage, his hand finding her breast and squeezing down on her sensitive nipple. Another gasp, hot and moist, inches from his ear. He lets his eyes close as another shiver of need runs down his spine.
It's been far, far too long. He'd like to take his time, but the fire inside him is burning too hot. There will be time later, to take it slow. To explore every inch of her body with his lips, with his fingertips, with his teeth and his tongue and to show her exactly what he wants from her.
For now, his fingers dig into the soft skin of her hips and pull her down, laying her out as flat as she can be laid out on the seat of the sofa.
Her skirt rides up her hips easily when he pushes it. She's wearing tights that tear easily. He's got the money to replace them, and she doesn't fight him. Her hips press up to meet his exploring fingers. He pushes her panties aside. They're already moistened by her arousal.
His fingers only probe her for a moment before he's working the zipper on his pants, freeing his hardness from the confines of his trousers. Her eyes go a little bit wide and her hips open a little wider, knowing what's going to come next.
There's no gentleness in the way that he takes her, rough and fast in a single swift motion that pushes all the way inside. She gasps and her legs wrap around his hips before she can stop herself.
He pulls back and thrusts again into her, the searing heat and tight grip forcing his eyes to flutter shut. His hands don't slacken, though. His hips move, hard and fast, his thumb between them working as fast as it can on her hard clit.
Linda's hands grab at the air, trying to find something to grip on, until her hands land on the cushion of the sofa. It wouldn't be the first time that a hole has been torn in it. If he works very hard, then it won't be the last.
Adam can feel the edge approaching. Can feel the temptation building to take what he can, as fast as he can. To wrench every ounce of pleasure. His hips do the thinking for him, his rhythm speeding up, the teasing of his fingers between them moving to match.
Her body tenses around him, her ankles crossed on the other side of his hips and locking him in as deeply as possible. He doesn't need any more permission than that, as his own orgasm rips through him. He can feel her milking him as he cums. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps as the need leaves him.
He's not a teenager any more, he thinks. He may need twenty or thirty minutes before he can go again.
But he's never let that stop him before.
Chapter Seventeen
Linda Owens settles into her couch again. It's late. Too late. Any sleep she might be able to get would only make things worse, and besides that, in a few hours, they'll be dropping the equivalent of a fifty megaton nuclear bomb on the unsuspecting news media.
Who could sleep when somewhere out there, Tom Delaney is cackling like a madman over the possibilities that are sitting in front of him? Who could sleep with the question of how Adam's going to snake his way out of it
on their mind?
There had been other clients before him who had worries about a scandal of this proportion. They'd done everything they could to fight it. They'd worked their asses off to pretend that it was nothing, and in the end, some of them failed to contain it.
Those candidates crashed and burned, like Icarus too close to the sun. She laid back and stared at the crack in her ceiling, wondering if they were going to ever fix it. It wasn't ruining her life, so she didn't force the issue. But eventually, one day, the crack would turn into something ugly, and then her landlord would have to deal with it or deal with the damages.
Other people had tried to navigate the tangle that she was about to walk into before. She'd done it, too, and like anyone else she had failed.
Adam Quinn gave off an air of absolute confidence. Confidence that had taken him from the sort of kid in high school you would expect to get a C average at Brown—on the back of his father's generous donations, of course—to the sort of man who had school buildings names after him.
The sort of man who gave commencement speeches to schools he didn't even necessarily attend, so they give him honorary degrees to give him an excuse to speak there.
If it were anyone else looking at the mine field and acting as if there were an easy way through it, then Linda would assume that they were crazy or stupid or more likely both.
Somehow, Adam Quinn didn't inspire that sort of worry. Whatever he was, he wasn't crazy, and he wasn't stupid.
Aggressive and dangerous? Sure. Demanding? Definitely. And he took whatever he wanted. He'd wanted her, he'd taken her, and she'd let him. And to top it off, not an un-gifted lover. Her hips still hurt, and she had to wonder how she was going to look walking into the office the next day. Maybe it would be best to get there early so nobody saw.
There was more to it, though. There were plenty of people out there who were all of those things. None who were all of them at the same time, and all of them toward her, but it was not an uncommon list of traits.
