by Aubrey Irons
And suddenly, I’m rock-hard inside my pants, which is thoroughly confusing with the angry scowl she’s giving me in our current situation. All I want to do is kiss her hard right here in the doorway. I want to shove her up against the door, lift up that teeny little black dress she’s wearing and remind her exactly how good last night felt since she’s clearly pretending to have forgotten.
“Reagan can we just fucking talk about this like adults instead of acting like children?”
She stares daggers into my eyes; “I am acting like an adult, Hudson. Now can we please go so I can get on with being an adult with my date?”
Chet, who I get to fucking drive her to. Who I get to watch her moon over all night at this stupid fucking ‘gala’ while everyone fawns over the two of them and takes their pictures and tells them what an incredible ‘power-couple’ they are.
In recovery and in the program, they talk about “relapse triggers” like “feelings of frustration,” or “expecting too much of other people.”
If you can ball every single one of those triggers into one damn thing, it’s called “Chet Kennedy’s stupid fucking gala event that I have to take Reagan to.”
I’m furious; raging inside like a bomb about to explode. But I swallow it, all of it, as I look at her sharply; “Fine. Let’s go.”
This is fucking ridiculous.
20
Reagan
P A S T
“Hang on, are you serious?” Quinn glances at Chelsea, and they both turn to look at me skeptically.
“Yeah, I’m serious.” I roll my eyes at them, “What, you don’t think I can do it?”
“Oh, no, it’s not that Ray!” Chelsea says quickly, shaking her head; “It’s just, uh, I mean it’s just that you’re-”
“You’re twenty-two, Reagan.” Quinn says evenly, frowning slightly.
“So?”
She rolls her eyes; “Ok, you’re twenty-two, and you have zero political experience. That might be a problem here.”
“Quinn, I do have a degree in political science, and I’ve spent the last two years working with Chet on his campaign stuff.”
Quinn snorts and Chelsea opens and closes her mouth quickly as if she’s trying to figure out what to say to that.
“OK, OK, laugh it up, I know. Chet’s…Chet, but the experience with the campaign is real, guys. It - I don’t know - it got me moving and got me thinking about stuff like I never have.”
“But Ray, the Senate?” Chelsea looks worried.
“State Senate, but yeah.” I shrug; “If you’re gonna dream, dream big right?”
Quinn grins; “You’re actually going to do this, aren’t you?” I nod and she rolls her eyes; “You’re fucking insane, you know that right?”
“Well, with endorsements like that!” Chelsea laughs and turns to look at me; “So when do we start?”
PRESENT
“So I told you about getting my amateur pilot’s license, right?” I raise my eyebrows towards Chet, nodding as I plaster a dopey, fake smile across my face.
I’m not really listening to a word he says though, since I’m concentrating on not looking at the scowling Hudson standing right there with us. Hudson who’s alternating between rolling his eyes at practically everything Chet says and glowering at me every time I very purposely laugh at it.
I might be laughing on the outside, but inside I’m scowling just as hard as he is now. I mean where the fuck does he get off being so possessively alpha about me talking with Chet when he’s the one that had Samantha and her tits hanging off of him barely hours after we’d slept together. It’s classic fucking Hudson.
But if anything, I’m more scared than pissed, as much as I don’t want to admit it. In fact, I’m doing my damnedest to ignore it, since I’m scared what me being jealous of Hudson with another girl really means, especially after what I talked about with Quinn and Chelsea.
“So what do you think, Hud?” Chet’s nodding his head and wagging his eyebrows at Hudson, who’s piercing scowl and pointed silence he seems to be oblivious of. “Pretty soon you and I can get up there together and do a little ace piloting, huh Iceman?”
“Why would I do that.” There’s almost a humor in the way Hudson does nothing to hide the disdain in his voice or the plaintive ‘I don’t fucking care’ look on his face when he speaks to Chet, but I bury that humor with a scowl instead.
Chet sighs dramatically. “Well hell man! I thought they taught you guys how to fly planes in the Air Force!”
Hudson’s eyes narrow at Chet. “I’m sure they do teach people to fly planes in the Air Force,” He says, his voice icy.
Chet snaps his fingers and shakes his head; “Right, right! Ranger, right?”
Hudson’s fist clenches at his side; “Marine.”
“Ahhh, well, I was close!”
Hudson’s eyes very plainly say “no, you weren’t” but he mercifully keeps his mouth shut. Unfortunately, Chet doesn’t.
“Well you’ve still got planes with the Marines, right? Don’t they take you up in them to to get pushed out or something?” He chuckles and I see Hudson’s jaw tighten. “I thought that was your guys’ thing!”
Hudson smiles broadly at Chet, his eyes like a shark’s. “Oh it is! I’d be happy to show you sometime if you wan-”
“Don’t you have some other place to be,” I hiss at him.
“Whatever you say, Princess,” he mutters sarcastically to me, and I jump as I feel his hand quickly swat at my butt behind me where Chet can’t see. He narrows his eyes like he’s about to say something to me, but he turns sharply on his heel and walks away instead, without another word to either of us.
“I’m, uh, I’m sorry about that.” I shrug and try to smile at Chet’s smirking face; “He gets-”
He gets, what, possessive? Dominant? My body hotter and my pussy wetter than anything I’ve ever felt before?
“He gets feisty sometimes.”
Feisty, right.
My mind is instantly flooded with thoughts of just how “feisty” he got the other night when his hands were on my ass, bouncing me up and down his cock. I swallow hastily, trying to force the flush from my face.
Chet just chuckles in this affected, eye-rolling way as he sips the martini in his hand. “Oh, he’s just looking out for you.” He arches a brow at me, giving me what I’m sure he believes is his most charming smile. “Can’t say I blame the guy. If I had my way, I’d be looking all over you too.”
The thought of Chet looking at me anywhere close to the way Hudson does makes me nauseous, but I smile at him anyways as if I totally get what he’s saying.
“Say, you know speaking of which, I’ve been thinking a lot, Reagan.”
Shit. I think I know exactly where this conversation is headed, and it’s not one I really ever need to have with him.
“Chet, I-”
“No, now hang on now, Ray,” He puts his arm around my shoulders, and if we weren't surrounded by people and press, I’d already be pushing him off me and telling him where to stick it. But I know I’m supposed to behave myself, and after the near miss disaster of being found with Hudson in my damn bedroom, I feel like playing by the rules might be a good thing.
“You know-” Chet looks around before he leans close, “Can we talk somewhere a bit more private?”
I don’t even know what to say as he’s suddenly leading me to the side of the large ballroom and down a darkened hallway away from the crowds and music.
“Chet where are we goin-”
“Ray, baby, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry you had to find out about that; before I mean, about me and that staffer.”
I stare at him incredulously; “Wait, that’s your apology?” I almost want to laugh at how insanely cliche this guy is;. “You’re sorry that I found out? Not that you were fucking one of your interns like some sort of politician cliche out of a movie-script?”
Chet smiles and nods his head patronizingly at me. “Now, let’s not be crude, Reagan. You know
these sort of relationships sometimes just happen in politics.”
I roll my eyes; “No, Chet, I don’t know that.” But I’m also done having this conversation, and I just shake my head. “You know what, fine; apology accepted.”
I turn to leave, when I feel his hand grab my arm, tightly.
“Oh I’m so glad, Reagan.” He’s grinning that smarmy smile at me again, and I’m suddenly on edge; “I think we’re going to have a lot more luck the second time, I can feel it.” And then before I know what’s happening, he’s yanking me towards him and trying to kiss me.
I sputter and push away from him; “Chet!” I can feel my pulse racing, roaring in my ears like an engine as the adrenaline spikes; “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
He’s still holding my arm, and he chuckles; “Oh, c’mon babe, don’t tell me you haven’t missed a little of the ole’ Chet magic.”
I open my mouth to say something but he just keeps going.
“You remember, Reagan, just like the old times huh?” He’s pressing me back against the wall behind me, and I’m feeling every inch of my skin crawl as my throat freezes up. He leans close, running his hand up the front of my dress and making me cringe in revulsion. “You look so tense, bab-”
In the blink of an eye, his arm is suddenly getting wrenched away from me and behind his back. There’s a snapping sound, and he’s screaming.
Hudson - Hudson - snarls like fucking wild animal as he brings his fist crashing down across Chet’s face, sending blood splattering from his nose as he cries out and drops to his knees on the ground. He’s holding his face and staring up at the utterly ferocious looking Hudson, and he’s screeching as Hudson’s fist crashes into his face again.
And then I’m yelling - screaming even - and suddenly there’s the sounds of running footsteps as security comes thundering around the corner.
Hudson snarls as two of them grab his arms. "Not me, you fucking idiots," He spits out, nodding towards the sniveling Congressmen on the ground cradling his limp arm as the blood pours down his face.
I can barely nod as they look at me for verification, feeling as though I’m moving in slow motion as Hudson shakes them free and jerks his head around to stare at me.
“Are you okay?”
“I- I-” I’m stammering, my mouth opening and closing without words.
“Reagan.”
Hudson’s voice is sharp, and I jerk my head to stare at him; “What?”
“Are you hurt.”
I shake my head quietly. “No.”
“Then lets go, now.”
It’s not until we’re outside that the shock really hits me, and suddenly I find myself angry, and I’m angry at Hudson for some reason. I’m angry that I needed rescuing; that somehow I need him at all. We’re right by his car when I shake my hand out of his and stop suddenly in my tracks. Hudson turns to me and I suddenly snap. “I don’t need rescuing you know.”
He frowns. “Could’ve fooled me, Princess.”
I narrow my eyes at him; “I mean in general, I don’t need you saving me or anything. I mean I’m the normal one here, Hudson; you’re the one with all the baggage that needs rescuing.”
He looks at me coolly as he steps closer to me; “Is that a fact? You think I need rescuing?”
I purse my lips and frown, crossing my arms over my chest; “Mhmm.” And then he’s right in front of me, and I can feel my own body betray me at his proximity; my pulse starting to race and my breath coming quicker.
“You know,” he growls, smirking that smug smile as he leans so close to my face that our lips are almost touching; “We’d probably get along better if you’d just stop pretending you don’t want me.”
“You’re fucking delusional, I don’t want you at all,” I sneer at him, knowing how totally unconvincing that sounds and feeling more like I’m trying to convince myself than him.
“Oh, so it’s Chet you want in there? Is that it?”
“Shut up, you don’t know what I want, Hudson.” His eyes flash at me, and he’s so close to me that I could just breath and kiss him.
“Yes, I do.” He growls lowly, his eyes flashing at me, and I gasp as he takes my hand and places it against the front of his pants. He’s rock hard inside, and I can feel my own body throb with desire as I feel how aroused he is for me. And I know he’s right, too; I know he sees right through my bullshit and little bratty outburst and sees exactly what I want.
The side door to the museum slams open and Donald comes huffing out, looking furious and red in the face as he starts to scream something at Hudson.
“Get in the fucking car, Archer.” He whispers into my ear, sending a shiver right through me and making me tingle somewhere deep inside.
“Fine” I spit out, as if I’m letting him take me away, even though its the only thing in the world I want in that moment.
21
Hudson
P A S T
I duck and weave, dancing back to try and avoid Logan's hook, but I of course catch it in the side anyways. I can feel the sweat stinging my eyes, and my shoulder’s throbbing in that way that I know I should give it a rest, but I know I won’t.
I also know that Logan's going to beat me like he does every time we box like this, but that doesn’t stop me from putting up a fight anyways. That’s pretty much the first thing he taught after showing me how to lace up the gloves; always put up a fight.
I swing wildly, feeling fatigued to the point of sloppiness as I swing through air where his face used to be. He’s grinning at me, looking like he’s barely out of breath as he skips away before ducking back in to land another hit against my jaw.
“You wanna yield?” He’s taunting me, and we both know it. We also both know these little bouts of ours only end when I can’t physically lift my arm anymore or when I hit the ground too many times.
“Getting tired, old man?” I grin at him, knowing this gets right under his skin; “I mean thirty’s creeping up there buddy, I can let you go take a breather if you wan-” I see fucking stars as his glove catches me right above the left eye, and then the world is spinning as I land on my back on the floor of the ring.
Bryce taps the bell, shaking his head as I turn to shake my head at him; “Nope, fuck off Hudson, I’m calling it.”
“Aww c’mon man! I had him!”
Logan snorts as he bends down to give me a hand up; “Oh, definitely, Hud. Closest one yet.”
“Dick.”
He grins at me; “Hey, someday you might even land a punch on me, which’ll be the surprise of the century.”
I’m swatting at him with my glove when Bryce swears under his breath; “I got one better for you.”
I glance over at him, hunched over his laptop screen with his jaw hanging open and furrow my brow; “What?” He’s slowly shaking his head, his eyes skimming whatever he’s reading. “Dude, what?”
Bryce raises his head to look at us with a crooked grin on his face. “Reagan Archer just announced her candidacy for New York State Senate.”
Well, huh.
P R E S E N T
“Where the fuck are we going?”
I grit my teeth and try to stop myself from saying anything; from telling her she’s being a brat, from telling her I’m sick of this bullshit - hell, from telling her all the shit I’m dying to tell her if I could only figure out how.
“Hudson!” She’s yelling now; “You can’t just fucking kidnap me you know. Aren’t you Mr. ‘Low-Profile’? I’m pretty sure kidnapping Legislative candidates gets you high-profile faster than you can-“
“Will you shut up?” I finally bark at her, my hands gripping the wheel tight as we screech around a corner, narrowly missing some idiot hipster out riding a fixie bicycle in the fucking snow.
“We’re going to my place.”
She frowns; “Why, you’ve never taken me to your place bef-“
“Because it’s safe there, that’s why.” I turn and stare at her, our eyes meeting with a sort of burni
ng spark that keeps me looking at her for far longer than I should considering I’m driving a damn car. I tear my gaze away and accelerate around a taxi.
“Is it?” She says quietly, and when I turn back this time, her look is hungrier; more naked.
I turn back to the road, and without warning I slide my hand up high on her thigh. I can hear her breath catch, and feel the thrum of her pulse hot under her skin.
“Don’t you dare think you’re going to-”
Her words end in a gasp as I slide my hand right up under her dress to the heated and damp fabric of her panties and I grin; “Ahh, yeah, you don’t want me at all, right?”
She bites her lip and shakes her; “Mm-mm, nope; not at all.”
I gun the engine, letting the horses fucking rip under the hood as I stroke my finger up over her panties; tracing her sex through the wet material and relishing in the quiet moan she valiantly tries but ultimately fails to swallow.
We’re speeding through streets now, the engine roaring as I dodge cars and blow through lights. My finger slides beneath the side of her panties and strokes her lips, and she rocks her hips towards me.
“Still sure you don’t want me?”
“Definitely,” she gasps, her breathing comes ragged as I stroke my finger through her wetness and roll my thumb over her clit. She drops her head back and willing spreads her legs wider, and I know I’ve got her close as I roar around another corner.
“Oh, well that’s good then, because we’re here.”
I screech the car to a purr in front of my building and withdraw my fingers from her panties. She whirls to stare at me, and the look she gives me as her jaw drops is pure, undiluted frustration, and I love it.
“Better cover up, Senator,” I say with a shit-eating grin as I nod towards the approaching valet. Reagan scrambles to pull her skirt back down, shooting daggers at me as I chuckle and step out of the car. I toss the keys to Richard, the valet, outside my building and usher the fuming Reagan through the front door.
