DUTCH AND GINA: THE SINS OF THE FATHERS

by Mallory Monroe

  DUTCH AND GINA

  THE SINS OF THE FATHERS

  By

  MALLORY MONROE

  c2012

  All rights reserved. Any use of the materials contained in this book without the expressed written consent of the author is illegal and strictly prohibited. Included in this prohibition are scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book by way of the Internet or any other electronic or technical means.

  AUSTIN BROOK PUBLISHING

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters are fictitious. Similarities to anyone living or dead are completely accidental. The specific mention of known places or venues are not meant to be exact replicas of those places, but are purposely embellished or imagined for the story’s sake.

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  PROLOGUE

  TWELVE YEARS EARLIER

  Dutch Harber stood at the wall-to-wall window that overlooked a panoramic view of Vegas at night. He gulped down the last of his drink as laughter roared in the adjacent room.

  “They’re waiting for you,” Max said as he stared at his long-time friend.

  Dutch said nothing. He continued to stare out of that window, and at the swirling nightlife that surrounded the well-placed hotel.

  Max looked at that nightlife, too, and then looked at his friend again. “Dutch, they’re waiting for you,” he said once more.

  Dutch finally looked at Max. He was, by far, his oldest and dearest friend. “Care to join us?” he asked with a wicked smile, already certain of the answer.

  “Thanks, but no,” Max said with a note of distaste in his voice. “Besides, Senator McKenzie hates my guts. He’ll choke on his own vomit if I showed my face in there.”

  Dutch laughed mildly, although, in Max’s mind, it was hardly funny. Dutch Harber and Crader McKenzie were both well-respected United States Senators attending a winter retreat for the congressional reelection committee, and were behaving like this. Not funny at all. Boozing and banging, that was all they’d been doing all weekend long. Boozing and banging. And although Dutch would declare he was only slightly tipsy, Max knew he was practically stoned.

  Dutch did manage, however, to hand Max his empty glass. Their hands touched in the exchange, with Max gripping Dutch’s hand slightly longer than was necessary, as if to keep Dutch with him and out of that room. Dutch felt his friend’s momentary grasp, but pulled slightly harder to release his hand. He was no abstainer like Max. He had to have it, and he had to have it repeatedly.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said with what Max thought was a regretful look in his sharp green eyes. And then his tall, lean body headed for the bedroom.

  Max stared at that body, at the way he moved so elegantly. Why he wasted his gifts in places like this was a mystery to Max.

  But he wasn’t so mystified that he mused over it long. He had a job to do. That was his role, after all. He was, if he were to be honest with himself, nothing more than Dutch Harber’s clean-up man. He’d played that role since they were kids in boarding school. He always danced to Dutch’s tune. Always.

  But what was the alternative, he thought as he placed the glass on the hotel’s wet bar. Dance to his own tune, and without Dutch? He knew that wasn’t a possibility. Dutch Harber was going places, and he was going right along with him.

  He proceeded to tidy up the cigarette butts and empty beer bottles and numerous wine glasses that lined the room. This was all in the aftermath of the get together Dutch had thrown earlier for other members of Congress. Max couldn’t chance having some cleaning crew see this mess, take pictures, and sell those pictures to the tabloids. Then some tabloid story comes out proclaiming this was how so-called public servants spent their weekends, not to mention how they were spending the American people’s tax dollars.

  So dutiful Max tidied up the entire room. But he wasn’t about to leave the suite. Not yet. He needed insurance. Always had to have that insurance. He pulled out his small, trim-line camera, walked over to the closed bedroom door, and waited.

  His wait was short. Because within moments of his arrival at the closed door, Dutch let out one of his loud roars that allowed Max to crack open the bedroom door without being heard.

  And there they were. The Honorable Senator Crader McKenzie and The Honorable Senator Walter “Dutch” Harber. Both naked on the bed. Both cocks thick and long and being given serious head by the same gorgeous girl. Beautiful Elvelyn, the blond bombshell Max hand-picked to spend the night with them. She was a good girl from a good family and she knew how to keep her mouth shut. And she loved to fuck, as long as the guys were hot. Dutch and Crader, even Max had to admit, were scorchers.

  And Max took pictures, all sorts of pictures, of their scorch.

  They were lying across the bed and she was on her knees on that bed, positioned between both men. Her long, blonde hair kept slinging around her face and she had to keep slinging it back out of her way. And although she would pleasure Crader McKenzie, Max knew she favored Dutch. She’d give Crader a few licks, a mouthful even, but then she kept moving that mouth back to Dutch’s massive rod. She’d not only lick Dutch, but would go all the way down on him, and would fill her mouth with that gorgeous pink cock like it was a bite of porterhouse steak. Max licked his lips just imagining how it tasted.

  Dutch was laid back, his arms over his forehead, his beautiful eyes closed. He was an Adonis to Max, his ripped abs so taut and tight he looked like the prime pump in a sea of prime pumps. And that massive tool between his legs. It mesmerized Max. So long, so thick, and oh so juicy. And his camera clicked furiously.

  But when Dutch suddenly moved Elvelyn to where she was on top of him, and rammed his dick deep inside of her in one swift shove, causing the woman to scream out in ecstasy, Max almost spilled his beans right where he stood.

  Crader then got on top of her, ramming his cock up her ass, and they were going at it like sex-starved teenagers, with Dutch easily holding all of their weight. All Max could see of the woman was her legs, sandwiched between these two so-called dignified senators, and they were tapping that thang of hers so hard Crader’s own ass was shaking as he pounded her. And these were supposed to be the pillars of their community, Max thought. Two of the most powerful men in the Senate, and among the most powerful in all of the United States. Two sex perverts, if you asked Max.

  Dutch and Crader were both nearly drunk, and Elvelyn wasn’t far behind, but Max hadn’t had a drop of liquor. He was stone cold sober as he watched. As he took his pictures but kept stopping to watch. As he unzipped his pants and kept watching Dutch thrash into that girl, harder and harder, as if she was just his plaything. And Max couldn’t take it.

  He pulled it out, to release the pressure, and immediately found himself jerking off. He jerked so hard he could hear himself began to grunt it out. He jerked so hard that he soon created a huge puddle of cum at his feet. And it kept pouring out. Because he couldn’t stop watching Dutch thrash her. He wanted to be in that girl’s position. He wanted it to be him, and not some gotdamn bitch, Dutch was filling up. He wanted to fill up Dutch!

  And as soon as that rush of emotion ebbed, and his cum was drained out, and he was just standing there jerking on an empty, limp dick, he was ashamed of himself. Deeply ashamed. He wasn’t even gay, for crying out loud! How could he have such dirty, horrible thoughts!

  And like every bad turn his life ever took, including this spontaneous act of shame, Max just kn
ew this was all Dutch Harber’s fault, too.

  CHAPTER ONE

  TWELVE YEARS LATER

  Dutch stood quietly in the shower stall long after his bath was over. He ran his fingers through his silky black hair and leaned his head all the way back, to absorb the shock of full-forced water as it poured down every curve of his muscular, sinewy body.

  He had been at the Helsinki Summit for three days now. Three long days of negotiations by all of the major world leaders and they were no closer to an agreement on Europe’s debt crisis than they had been on day one. He missed his wife, he missed his son, he even missed the back and forth of DC politics. At least in Washington he knew where people stood. Here, in Helsinki, Finland, some forty-three hundred miles away, it wasn’t even about taking a position. It was all about not taking one and wasting everybody’s time not saying so. Of all the wack-ass duties he had to perform as President of the United States, and there were many, attending these useless summits ranked highest among them.

  He turned the water off and prepared to leave the shower. At least today was the last day he planned to remain in town, agreement or no agreement, as those long, drawn-out meetings were set to resume in less than an hour. Problems had better be ironed out today, he had already warned his counterparts, or they weren’t going to be ironed out with assistance from the United States. But as soon as he opened the shower door and stepped out onto the bathroom tile, another problem was staring him in the face: His daughter. Jade.

  Jade stood in the middle of the hotel’s bathroom anxiously anticipating her father’s appearance. She was dressed comfortably, in a printed cropped blazer and a pair of white slim-leg pants. The layered curls of her long, brown hair fell over both her shoulders, and her dark green eyes against her light-brown skin gave her a stunning appearance. She knew she was a mixed-race beauty. Her parents, she felt, were both far too attractive for her not to be a looker.

  But sometimes she felt unsure of herself. She felt uncomfortable with herself. As if she was a nuisance to everybody who knew her, but they didn’t have the guts to tell her so.

  When her father stepped out of the shower stall, and saw her standing there, he was startled by the sight. Jade’s eyes immediately trailed downward, from his muscular chest and washboard abs, to what she could only describe as his remarkable endowment. But when she saw that he was displeased by her bold appearance in his bathroom, and especially by where her eyes had trailed to, she immediately sprang into action. It was difficult, but a tear did come.

  “What’s the matter?” Dutch asked as her pretty brown face suddenly became a mask of anguish.

  “Oh, Daddy,” she said tearfully as she hurried to him and fell against his body.

  Dutch coolly but firmly took her by the arm and pulled her back, grabbing a towel off of the rack as he did. “What’s happened?” he asked anxiously as he wrapped the towel around his well-endowed midsection. “Gina and Little Walt all right?”

  Jade could have thrown up when he mentioned Gina’s name. That was all he thought about: Gina, Gina, Gina! “They’re fine, Daddy. It’s not about them.”

  Dutch stared at his daughter. She was turning out to be a very troubled young lady, and it was beginning to concern him. “Then what is it about?” he asked her.

  It took even more effort, but Jade managed to produce more tears. She had learned the trick when she was a child: think about something terrible in her life and the tears would come. Since she had many examples she could draw upon, the tears always came.

  “Babe, what is it?” Dutch asked again.

  Jade hesitated again, but then she spoke. “I keep thinking about her,” she said softly.

  Dutch remained cool as he watched her. Because he knew what she meant. He took a second towel off of the rack and began rubbing it through his hair, to stop the dripping. Jade looked at his jet-black hair, at his glassy green eyes, at his superfine body. She was certain there couldn’t possibly be another man alive better looking than her father. She was proud that she was his.

  “The doctor told you, Jade, that it would take significant time,” he ultimately said to her.

  “But it’s been almost a year now. Why am I still thinking about her? It wasn’t like she was a real baby. I had a miscarriage. It wasn’t like I had her and she was growing up and then she died. I never knew her. I never even saw her. Shouldn’t I be over it by now?”

  “Of course not,” Dutch said softly, alarmed that she didn’t realize it herself. “You suffered a terrible loss.”

  “But it keeps coming back to me. I keep thinking about her. Oh, Daddy,” Jade said again, summoning the tears again, and fell against his body again.

  Dutch placed his towel around his neck and hugged his daughter, rubbing her long, soft hair, attempting to comfort her.

  But his mind was unsettled. Gina had privately gone through some therapy sessions last year after the trauma she had endured at the hands of his one-time friend Robert Rand, and the therapist had been excellent. Like Jade, Gina didn’t want to talk to anybody, either, believing she didn’t need it. But Dutch put his foot down. He told her that she was going to meet with that therapist even if she just sat there and said nothing the entire time.

  And that was indeed what stubborn Gina did for the first few sessions. She just sat there and said absolutely nothing, certain Dutch would get the message and tell her she didn’t have to go anymore. But he told her she still had to go. And she still went. By session number three she was letting it all out. And feeling better for it. But now, as he held his still-distraught daughter in his arms, he was beginning to wonder if he would have to deploy similar tactics with her.

  He pulled her back and looked at her, his hands on her small arms. “We’ll talk tonight, all right?”

  “Ah, Daddy! Don’t tell me you’re going to be in meetings all day again!”

  “That’s why I’m here, Jade. For meetings.”

  Jade exhaled. This was her first foreign trip with her father, but she rarely saw him.

  “Why don’t you and Christian go sightseeing?” Dutch suggested as he began walking out of the bathroom. “Do some fun stuff. I have every confidence in the Secret Service. They’ll protect you.”

  “I know they will. It’s not that at all. It’s just that . . .” She wanted to tell him how she felt, how she truly felt, but her true emotions were never welcomed by anyone. She therefore smiled instead. “Guess who’s here?”

  Dutch looked back at her. “Here? In Helsinki?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “Mom’s here.”

  Dutch frowned and stopped walking. “Sam? What in the world is Sam doing here?”

  “She came to see you! I’ve been telling you since forever she wanted to talk to you. But you had all of that craziness going on when the Speaker of the House and then the Vice President resigned. And then LaLa and Uncle Crader got married. And then they promptly had the bad manners to get pregnant, which I think Gina was happier about than when I got pregnant. But anyway. It was just a lot on your plate. And you never made time for Mom.” A sadness came into Jade’s eyes. Dutch knew how much she cared about her mother.

  But it still made no sense to him. “Couldn’t it have waited until I returned stateside?” he wanted to know. “Why would she come all the way here?”

  Because Gina wouldn’t be here to get in between the two of you, Jade wanted to say. “I thought it would be good for her to get away from that ridiculous book store of hers and see the world a little,” she said instead. “She agreed and arrived late last night. So I was hoping that maybe you’ll make a little time for her before you start your meetings this morning.”

  It felt like the bum-rush to Dutch and he didn’t like it. But he knew Sam well enough to know that she didn’t play games. She was odd as hell, but she didn’t play games. “I’ve got to conference with my staff before I attend any of my meetings, so I can’t see her this morning. But bring her to the reception this afternoon. I should h
ave some free time then.”

  Jade was displeased by the fact that she and her mother were never a priority to him, but she pretended as if she was well-pleased. “Oh, thank-you, Daddy!” she said with an exaggerated smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and she hugged him again.

  And then she was gone.

  In a swirl of cheerfulness.

  And just like that, Dutch thought, his teary-eyed daughter went from bereaved mother to the happy little lamb she often tried to project herself as being. But that ability of hers, to turn her emotions off and on like a faucet, as if emotions were nothing more than a tool, disturbed him mightily.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Little Walt asked again as he and his mother hurried out of the South Portico of the White House, and climbed into the waiting limousine.

  His mother, Regina “Gina” Harber, smiled. She knew exactly how her son felt. She wanted him back too. “He’s still at what they call a summit, honey, in a country called Finland.” She said this as she buckled her precocious young son into his car seat. She wasn’t going to dumb-down the language for Little Walt. There would be no baby talk from her. She spoke clearly and she answered all of his tons of questions. “He’ll be back home late tonight.”

  “That’s not home,” Little Walt said as he looked down at the buckle, his shoulder-length, curly brown hair flopping down and around his handsome face.

  “What did you say, Walter?”

  He jerked his head up, revealing stunningly beautiful green eyes. “Daddy’s not home.”

  “That is absolutely correct,” Gina said adoringly as she put on her own seat belt. “You are such a smart little boy. You’re smart just like Daddy.”

  Little Walt, an unusually thoughtful child, scrunched up his face as if he was still trying to work out the sense of his mother’s comment. “You say I’m smart like Daddy. Daddy says I’m smart like Mommy.” He let out a sigh of great frustration. “I don’t know what to believe.”