B.I.L.F.: A Brother In Law Romance

by Dark Angel

  I don’t have a chance to say goodbye, I’m just laying there, enjoying the last of my orgasm before the day starts.

  “Is it my turn?” Mr. Lobbyist raises his head, asking me. What a wimp. I can’t believe this man runs his own business. That before he met me, he was supposedly considered a badass by the Washington women who swoon after powerful males.

  I swing my legs out over him, and get off the bed. I need to take a shower. And it sounds like I’m going to New York.

  “What about me?” the Lobbyist asks, getting out of bed too. I look over his body. His cock may be tiny, but his body was alright. Standard 6-pack abs, maybe could stand to work out a little more—get some more definition.

  I head to the shower. Anyone who has to beg me for sex isn’t getting any.

  “I need to shower, feel free to show yourself out…babe,” I tell him as I turn on the water and then turn to face him. He looks crestfallen. I feel so bad all of a sudden.

  “Oh, don’t be sad, babe, it’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s not your fault. I just don’t fuck losers in the morning is all.”

  He nods, and leaves, tail tucked between his legs. Hopefully he rescues some girl from someone or something to get his ego up soon.

  As for me, I have a plane to catch.

  Vivian

  Get in. Tell the Governor that he can’t openly cut down on jobs if he wants to keep his seat next time around. Twist his arm if I have to. Smile nicely and let him know I have a knife behind my back. And then get the hell out. I should be able to make time to catch the midnight shuttle from La Guardia back to Reagan if I stick to this plan.

  That’s what I’m telling myself as my limo drives down along Park Avenue past 59th Street as it heads toward the Waldorf.

  I hate coming to the city. I don’t mind it so much when I’m here, but every time I fly into either JFK or La Guardia, it seems just a bit more fake. A bit more gentrified. Common people pushed out in favor of the wealthy. International billionaires who come in and buy $2 million dollar apartments just to park their money. But everyone forgets the people who had to get evicted so the old walk-up apartment buildings could get bulldozed for these new gleaming towers.

  Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to go back to the days of high crime and a broke, dysfunctional New York City. And I’m not socialist. I’ve made enough money from the system, and my investment portfolio would leave many people green with envy. I’m definitely in the 1%.

  But despite all that, sometimes it makes me sad, seeing Manhattan go from the place that brought out the best in America and slowly turn into an upscale shopping mall for the well-to-do. Not everywhere. And not always. And there’s still a long way to go.

  But it just seems like more, every time.

  I sigh. I need to get my head out of the clouds. Maybe this is what women worry about when they don’t have kids. Although, I’m only 29. And honestly, getting to be Senator was hard work. I’ve never had a chance to think about kids, and why am I even thinking about kids right now? I mean, look at me, hun. I’m wearing Vera Wang—dressed to kill in a black cocktail dress—heading to a fundraiser with the most powerful people in the country. And I’m wondering about kids? And a gentrifying city?

  The car comes to a stop and the chauffeur opens my door and I tell myself I need to just follow the script and I’ll be out of here in an hour to be able to get back onto my plane and back home. Maybe I’ll even invite Mr. Lobbyist with the small dick back to my place. He gives great head.

  I walk into the Waldorf and make my way to Peacock Alley where the fundraiser is being emceed. Security checks my credentials and all of a sudden I’m in a sea of bowties and cocktail dresses. People sipping martinis and laughing politely as they talk about the problems associated with ruling the world.

  “Senator Hawthorne?” an usher says to me, coming up to me. He must have recognized me, although I don’t do many of these things. I nod. “If you’ll follow me, please,” he asks.

  But wait, I’m sticking to my plan, remember. I can’t get caught up in anything else.

  “Actually, can you take me to Governor Andrews?” I say to the usher. He looks at me for a moment and then nods and begins to make his way through the clumps of people surrounding the buffet table and bar.

  We make our way for a minute until we reach a massive fireplace and that’s when I see the usher go up next to a tall man in a tuxedo with his back turned to me. He interrupts a conversation and the man turns to me and all of a sudden I catch my breath.

  You remember when I told you earlier I didn’t want to have kids because I needed to focus on work?

  Well, hun, if this man told me to have his babies, I’d hike up my dress and spread my legs right here on the floor.

  I don’t even speak as I watch him walk over to me.

  “Senator Hawthorne?” he asks and holds out his hand. “I’m Governor Andrews. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

  I just had sex this morning. But then, why am I salivating over his Greek god body that fills out his Armani tailored suit?

  I take a moment to look him up and down. He's got a handsome, to die for face. Blonde hair that's perfectly coiffed. His jaw is chiseled and his face is lean. Hungry. His eyes are a piercing blue and deep. They hold something dark. That face sits on top of an elegant neck and one of the most fantastic specimens of human male I have ever seen. Shoulders so broad that they could stop a truck. A chest that you can tell has pecs the size of wooden boards. Washboard abs. A tall, 6 foot 4 inch sculpture of perfection with a bulge in his trousers that hints at a package that I might want to explore.

  “I’m surprised we have never met before,” I manage to speak through a dry mouth that’s panting with desire. “Considering you’ve been in office for two years and I’ve been a Senator for those two years as well.”

  He nods to me. “I’ve been busy,” he simply says.

  My eyes travel quickly over his body again and I look at his crotch. Whatever is down there is long. It’s thick. It’s pulsing. And I want it.

  That’s right. I may want to fuck him. Or not. But it’s my decision. And right now, I am definitely leaning for fucking his brains out.

  Control yourself, Viv! I tell myself as I get my eyes back up to his face.

  “You’re causing quite the stir in Washington,” I tell him, looking at him. “It brought me down here to see what we could do to resolve this.”

  “Well, I’m sorry Senator, but I don’t usually take it well when a small town Mayor tells me to go fuck myself because his initiatives are going against laws that apply to the entire state,” Carter says, his steely eyes drilling into me.

  “Those factories don’t belong in the state anyways,” another voice interrupts me and I turn around.

  A slim, elegant looking Chinese woman is standing there with a martini in her hand. She’s got a smirk that I immediately dislike and I can tell she’s not a big fan of mine either. And it’s clear to me that she sees herself as the person whose going to be fucking Carter Andrews. “This state is past manufacturing jobs, if you ask me.”

  “I wouldn’t know who you are to ask you that, Miss…” I say with a smile and as much polite condescension as I can afford.

  She extends a hand. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Tina Ling, special representative from the People’s Republic of China on behalf of China First Bank,” she says to me. “I also head the Communist Party in Shanghai and planned this fundraiser.”

  “So, you’re the equivalent of the Mayor of Shanghai?” I ask, filing away the fact that China First Bank is holding a fundraiser for American political leaders for later.

  “I am,” Tina Ling says, with a puff of pride.

  “Well, Mayor,” I say, smiling sweetly. “This is a conversation for just Senators and Governors. Would you mind giving us a moment, please?”

  I know, hun. I know. I’m being a bitch.

  But just looking at her tits hanging out from that black dress, with t
hose slits showing her thigh. How elegant she is. How silky. And how entitled. It just has me feeling very bloated and angry. Like who the hell is she to come in here, have her fancy fundraiser, and walk away with this man?

  Tina must realize this because she smiles at me in a superior fashion. “I’ll be at the bar, waiting, Carter,” she says, and turns to walk away.

  “That could have gone better,” Carter says, a slight smile on his severe face as he looks at me.

  “Be the bigger person and all, you mean?” I ask, taking his arm in mine and moving him toward a corner of the room.

  Oh, my. Taking his arm? In mine? Drawing closer?

  It’s a good thing at least that I wore panties tonight. Because I’d be dripping down my legs right now if I didn’t.

  “Being gracious is something that’s usually smiled upon,” Carter says.

  “So when a Mayor makes some news by saying the Governor can go fuck himself, maybe the best thing to do is ignore it and not make a mountain out of a mole hill, hm?” I ask him with a smile.

  Carter’s face stiffens. “That’s different."

  “How?” I ask, smiling. I know I’m not listening to my own advice I gave myself in the car. I was supposed to come in here and steamroll over him. But I’m having fun instead.

  “Liam Jeffries is an undisciplined, arrogant, sonofabitch, and he’s never cared about authority or rules in his entire goddamn life,” Carter says matter-of-factly. “And I can’t sacrifice the future of this state just so he can be seen as the hero by his drinking buddies up in New Kingston.”

  “You don’t mess with jobs,” I tell Carter.

  “Jobs won’t be worth a damn when everyone has asthma and their drinking water is poisoned,” Carter shoots back at me.

  “But you need to consider that maybe you just let him burn out then,” I reply back. “You’ll still be here, but let him vent. And move on. Kill the factories with red tape.”

  Carter pauses for a moment. “Have you ever met Liam Jeffries?” he asks me.

  I shake my head. I’ve never even bothered. He’s a mayor of a small town that’s a suburb of New York City. The population of New Kingston is around 45,000. Fifty minutes from a city of 8 million. My office didn’t even have a file for him.

  “I’ve never met him nor dealt with him,” I tell Carter.

  “Well, then,” Carter says pointing behind me toward the wall. “This is who you’re dealing with.”

  I turn around toward the television.

  And for the second time that night, I gasp.

  Tall, rugged, handsome, with a smirk that tells me he’s gotten his hands dirty too many times to count is a man that the headline says is Liam Jeffries.

  I can see the vague trace of a tattoo on his right and left shoulder and one peeking up from his chest.

  He’s speaking. The volume is lowered since there’s a party, but I can still hear.

  “These factory jobs are coming to New Kingston,” Liam says. “I don’t care what kind of environmental legislation they’ve passed up in Albany, but I can tell you this, that shit doesn’t mean a damn when you don’t have a job. And I’m bringing jobs.”

  I’m transfixed. I’m mesmerized. By his face. His eyes. His intensity.

  “And I know I’m not supposed to curse on live television, but if the Governor is going to get his panties in a bunch over helping good people, then I’m going to keep saying what I said yesterday,” Liam says to the camera. “He can go fuck himself. Or he can stop crying and suck a fat fucking dick.”

  “You see now what I mean?” Carter says to me, as if this should explain everything. “The man is a goddamn child. Not to mention he probably just cost the network $500,000 in broadcast fines for his cursing.”

  I’m listening. I’m thinking maybe I should pay a visit to New Kingston myself, you know?

  Maybe understand the situation a bit more.

  Because I need to get to the bottom of this. I need to get the facts and help them make a reasonable compromise.

  It’s going to be hard because right now I want to do only one thing in the world.

  Fuck.

  Liam

  “On the house, Mayor,” the bartender tells me, pushing a giant mug of beer in my direction. I’ve already drunk a few glasses of whisky, but what the fuck, you don’t say no to your citizens. Specially when they’re slender brunettes with perfect breasts.

  “Cheers,” I thank her, taking the mug to my lips and drinking a long gulp. The beer goes down my throat softly, settling in over the whisky pretty easily. I already have a fucking buzz going on, but I’m not too shitfaced—exactly the way I like it. “Oh, come on,” I yell at the TV, my voice joining a chorus of annoyed jeers. The fucking Jet’s QB just got sacked, and we’re already down by fourteen points. Sometimes I think I should have become a fucking football player and won the goddamn Super Bowl; I mean, I’d like to see the Jets win a fucking championship during my lifetime.

  Everyone has their eyes glued to the TV, watching as the team struggles to reach the playoffs. This is why I love my city, New Kingston. I might be the fucking mayor and all that, but I can still hang out by the bar and be treated like a fucking regular human being. Yes, that’s right, I go to the same places the regular Joe goes to. Despite what all those gossip magazines tell you about me, I have my feet firmly planted on the ground; I’m not a snake in a suit, like the politicians New York presents us with. Sure, I’m fond of hard liquor and pretty women, but that doesn’t make me a fucking lunatic.

  Take our governor, for instance, Carter Andrews. The guy had the fucking nerve to walk into my fucking office and tell me with a straight face that I couldn’t bring jobs to my own city. Fucking unbelievable. No wonder the country is in such a fucking disarray, if guys like Carter are the best we have.

  “Another one,” I ask the smiling brunette behind the counter, pointing at my almost empty mug. I should have ordered a whisky; you don’t have to drink your own weight to get drunk, but I decide to stick with the beer. It’s still early, and I want to be sober enough in case I decide to thank the young bartender for the free drink… I don’t have to be any more explicit than this, do I?

  Another wave of jeers and boos takes the bar by assault, the opposing team scoring a fucking touchdown. Well, so much for this year’s playoffs. Then, something amazing happens; the whole bar quiets down, everyone turning their attention away from the TV. That’s almost a fucking miracle, taking into account that the patrons here are die-hard Jets fans. I turn around on my stool, trying to see what the fuck is going on, and my eyes find the most beautiful woman in the whole fucking universe. I know that I’m prone to some exaggeration now and then, but I’m fucking serious right now.

  She has just gotten inside, her eyes sweeping the room as she looks for someone. I wonder who the lucky bastard might be, my eyes and mind busy with taking in every single detail of her. Slender, blonde haired and beautiful, she almost looks too good to be real. I let my eyes wander over lively eyes and full red lips, but soon after that my gaze starts to go lower. She’s wearing a tight black dress, the fabric hugging her curves with such perfection that I feel my cock twitching inside my pants. Who the fuck is this woman?

  Every single pair of eyeballs is on her, but she keeps looking around lazily, not giving a fuck. She radiates confidence, and that makes her even more fucking beautiful. Then, her eyes find mine; her lips curl upward into a heart-melting smile and she starts to walk across the room toward me. She was looking for me? Oh, God, I hope she isn’t a fucking reporter. She might be scorching hot, but I just want to drink in peace, for fuck’s sake.

  I turn around and face the bar, placing my elbows on the counter as I take a gulp from my refilled beer and wait for the mysterious woman to reach me. She leans against the counter, sitting on the stool by my side, but I don’t even look at her. If she’s a fucking journalist, I’m shooting her down. I don’t care how fucking hot she is, I won’t let her bury her fangs in me.

  “
You’re hard to find, Mayor Liam Jeffries,” she says, her words caressing my eardrums and sending a shiver down my spine; my cock twitches some more. I look at her, my guard still up.

  “Maybe that’s because I don’t want to be found,” I respond. “And who the hell are you?”

  “Vivian Hawthorne,” she says, giving me her hand. I shake it gently, her small delicate fingers caressing the palm of my hand. “I’m a US senator.” Well, she isn’t a reporter, that’s good. But why the fuck is a US Senator looking for me in a bar this late? “I heard you already made friends with Governor Andrews.” Oh, that’s why. Did that fucking asshole send a senator after me?

  “Oh, yeah. We’re best friends now,” I smirk, taking another long gulp out of my beer. “Did he send you?”

  She snorts as if I had just told her a joke, and then casually leans against the counter and orders a 20-year-old Glenfiddich. Now that’s my kind of girl, one that knows her drinks.

  “Who do you think I am, Mayor? I’m a Senator, not a girl who runs errands.”

  “Well, it’d be a waste if you were just running errands,” I say with a grin, my eyes wandering over her body. I know I shouldn’t be this frontal, but hey, she’s the one who came looking for me after hours. “And you can call me Liam. I’m not a pompous ass like the Governor.”

  “Very well, Liam… I came here because I wanted to hear your side of the story. Your deal has caught the Senate’s attention, and it seems that Carter is pretty adamant on blocking your deal. I’ve met with him already, and it doesn’t seem like he expects to lose.”

  “Couldn’t you hear my side of the story during the day, in my office?” I ask her in a mocking tone, ignoring her comments about the deal. “Or did you want to see me this bad?”

  “Oh, I see. You’re trying to impress me with your devil-may-care bad boy persona; don’t worry, I’ve heard all about it already. After all, not a day goes by without reports of your, ahem, escapades hitting the news.” She talks back. Impressive. Most women would just flush, happy to be talking to me and trying to figure out a way to get me into their bed. But not this one; whoever Vivian Hawthorne is, she’s a different woman than what I’m used to. I like that… I really like that.