by Tara Oakes
I leave him pinned up against the steel partition and turn on my heel, wrenching the bathroom door open hard enough for the handle to bounce off the tile wall behind me.
Jackass.
~*~
“Ready?” I ask harshly, the anger from my encounter with Captain Douchebag in the men’s room spilling into my voice.
Jess eyes me, taken off-guard by my sudden change in demeanor.
“Uh, yeah. What’s got your panties in a bunch?”
I shrug off her comment and take the leather overnight bag that she has draped over her shoulder.
“Thanks,” she sheepishly releases it, and I catch her eyes. The dark-amber color to them hasn’t changed a bit, with tiny specks of gold and green, like a kaleidoscope of wonder. Her eyes have always had a hypnotizing effect on me, with their constantly changing patterns and intrigue.
“Th-the car should be waiting.” She shifts her eyes away and steps past me to leave her office.
You can tell a lot from a person by seeing where they work and where they live, and Princess’s office is no exception. Every object, every piece of paper, has a home and is neatly stored in it, giving the impression of a very organized and detailed person. In most regards she is. I also know that if I were to open any one of her desk drawers I’d find a ton of crumpled papers, candy wrappers and odd things just thrown in there.
That’s what makes her so complex. She struggles so hard to appear to be what everyone expects of her on the outside, but on the inside, she’s just a mess sometimes.
I’ve always known that about her, and I’ve never added to that pile of expectations. It actually pains me a little to see that she hasn’t changed, that she’s still playing the part. But then again … I guess I’m still playing mine, too.
“Coming?” She peeks her head back into the room and I can’t help but notice she’s a little bit shorter than before.
I nod and follow her out, balancing her leather travel bag that’s no doubt filled with campaign projects. She leads me down the hall to the main entrance of the building, and I laugh to myself as I see she’s changed from her heels into a pair of trusty flats.
It’s almost dinnertime, and most of the employees and volunteers are packing up to call it a day, racing against each other and us to get to the building’s large glass turn-style revolving door.
“Agent Gibson,” Kristen, Jessica’s intern that I’d met earlier, calls to me from behind the main reception desk where she’s been working.
Jess and I stop short, letting the crowd pass us by.
“Your things,” the young girl hands over the rolling pilot’s bag and garment bag of Bureau approved suits I flew in with earlier today, which I had surrendered at the main desk upon my arrival.
“Thank you,” I finagle my grip on Jess’s bag to take hold of my own luggage.
Jess steps in, “Here, I’ll take my own.”
I pull it out of her reach. “The day I let you carry luggage while I’ve got two hands that work is the day you know I’ve lost all self-respect, Princess.”
She holds her hands up in playful surrender. “Well, we can’t have that can we?”
I have a feeling she’s asking Kristen more than she’s asking me.
“Oh good, I caught you before you left,” like nails on a blackboard, a familiar whiney voice calls out from behind us.
I don’t need to turn around. I know who it is.
“Oh, good,” I sarcastically mimic Cooper as he joins our impromptu group. Both of the women catch on to my lack of affection for Lord Scrawny-ass, and laugh aloud.
Cooper slants himself to step between Jess and myself, turning his narrow shoulders to face away from me. He rests one of his lanky little twig arms on Jess’s upper arm, and I feel a sudden explosion of heat inside.
Something’s off.
Next, he leans in, kissing her in a highly inappropriate and unprofessional way. I wait for her to push him off, before I have a chance to drop my bags and deck him, but she doesn’t.
She stiffens a little bit, but doesn’t seem to be surprised by his sudden move. That somehow makes me even angrier.
“Call me when you land, Jessica. And be careful.” The sorry sack of shit kisses her once more and I find myself watching the two of them as if I’m watching a car crash.
I mean, I see it happening, but I can’t seem to believe it.
Kristen seems embarrassed by the whole situation and I can see her move away, from my periphery.
“Agent Gibson,” Cooper nods to me before smugly walking away, leaving me dumbstruck and Jessica looking like a deer caught in headlights.
I don’t watch him leave, I don’t let my eyes leave hers, although I’m sure as anything that he’s grinning like a Cheshire cat about now, having marked his territory.
The anger boiling deep is doing anything but subsiding. I know we’re not together, haven’t been for a while, now. But … him? Really?
“Chris,” she begins, no doubt going to attempt to explain herself.
She doesn’t owe me an explanation. Hell, there’s not an explanation that would be good enough, anyway.
“I’ll meet you in the car, Miss Leary.” I take the bags and my pride, leaving her behind to dwell in the aftermath of her actions.
I use the bright setting sun as an excuse to shield my fire-filled eyes and cover them with my standard-issue black sunglasses. Roger has a black Lincoln Town Car idling and parked next to the curb in front of the modern-looking office building.
I can hear the trunk pop just as the back storage lifts, while Roger steps out of the driver’s side.
“Thanks, man.” I pile the pieces of luggage into the depths of the trunk before the serious-looking security expert shuts it tightly.
Jess is quick to follow me and I silently leave the rear car door open for her, then take the front passenger position. I can see her watching me, hoping I’ll say something, anything. But I don’t.
I have no idea what I would even say.
Nothing like having an awkwardly tense car ride to look forward to.
~*~
JESS
The two men in the front seat are quiet. Roger, he’s always quiet … kind of like an owl perched up in a tree with his huge eyes watching everything, ready to swoop in when he’s needed. Chris, though, he just pissed.
Part of me feels guilty for not telling him sooner about Cooper, although I know I didn’t really have a chance, I mean what was I supposed to do? Have him walk into my office, extend him my hand to shake, and say something like, “Hey Chris, thanks for breaking up with me and coming to save my blackmailed ass all these months later. And by the way, I’m dating someone new. How’ve you been?”
Another part of me feels a sense of self-satisfaction knowing he’s stewing in it right now. I can see the back of his neck is red and blotchy in spots and I know what’s causing it. I know, right about now, he has flashing images swirling in his mind of me doing all the things I used to do to him… to Cooper’s body instead, and I know it’s just killing him.
Good.
Serves him right. I smile to myself; smug in the fact that those vivid images are probably haunting the hell out of my ex right now, causing him to clench his teeth hard enough his already sharp jaw pulses, forcing him to tug at his stiff collar in frustration; and they’re no more real than the fleeting pictures in his mind.
But Chris doesn’t need to know that. I think I like him imagining the worst, imagining someone else benefitting from his poor choices. It’s the furthest thing from the truth, though.
While it’s true that Cooper and I have been casually dating for a little while, I’ve been able to keep him at bay with some very well-placed and creative excuses. I am very aware, though, that he’s growing impatient settling for a very non-sexual version of a relationship.
While the very plain-looking envelope which randomly appeared on my desk one morning, containing the nearly-naked photographic evidence of my past, had the potential to ruin
dad’s campaign, it was a small blessing when it came to my relationship with Cooper.
It offered the distraction necessary to pull on the brakes and give me some breathing room where my new boyfriend was concerned. I know it won’t be permanent, that very soon I’ll have to face the decisions I’ve been putting off: whether to take the next step with my dad’s right-hand man, or not.
For now, though, I don’t need to commit to anything. I don’t need to make those choices. Instead, I have one purpose, one focus, and it’s neither of the two men playing tug-of-war with my heartstrings; even though only one of them has ever lay any claim to it. I have to do whatever I can, whatever it takes, to make sure that the skeletons of my past (however misunderstood and innocent they truly were) don’t destroy the my father’s hard work and that of all those who believe in him.
The thoughts in my head may be running a million miles a minute, but we only drive a few short miles to the private airport stationed nearby where dad’s campaign-leased private jet is standing by, ready to take us to the first and hopefully only person who can solve this mystery for us.
Nick Facione. Nicky The Fish— the man who I went undercover as a stripper to help put in jail.
CHAPTER THREE
“Wi-Fi?” Chris speaks for the first time since beginning the silent treatment.
The noise of the jet engine is deafening in the small cabin and I toy briefly with the idea of pretending I don’t hear him. It isn’t a long flight at all from our home base, in Gunney, South Carolina, to Barnsworth Federal Penitentiary in Barnsworth, Texas. The thought of riding out the rest of the trip no matter how long, in painful silence is the deciding factor for me.
“Password is budget. No caps.” I reveal.
He rolls his eyes as his fingers work at typing in the code. He thinks I don’t see the slight movement, but I do.
“Something wrong with that?” I find myself defensive.
He smiles tightly, “Nope. Just find it fitting for a politician’s password, is all.”
“So you’re speaking to me again, I see.” I concentrate on the email on the screen of my laptop before me, as I await his reaction to the bait.
“Never stopped. Just exercising some better judgment rather than saying something cruel.” His answer is curt, but at least it’s an answer.
I laugh loudly enough to garner his attention. “Never held you back before.”
It’s a little odd how after all this time we fall back into old patterns so easily. Neither one of us has ever held our tongue while calling the other out on their bullshit.
He exhales deeply and sets the thin cellphone down roughly on the seat next to him. “All right. You want me to talk? I’ll talk.”
I brace myself. I can tell by his tone that it isn’t going to be gentle.
“When did you start fucking douchebags?” He asks me point blank.
I angrily slam my laptop closed. “Present company excluded?”
He moves to speak, but thinks twice and closes his mouth before giving me more ammunition to use against him.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not fucking him.”
Big mistake. I shouldn’t have told him. I can see the huge grin flash on his usually stoic face the moment the words are said.
“Not that I couldn’t,” I’m quick to add, defensively. “Believe me. I could get it anytime I want.”
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move. The loud engine noise is now overwhelming as I feel the tenseness build like a tightly wound knot in my stomach.
“How long has it been?” He’s as serious as I’ve ever seen.
My mouth dries up like a desert and my tongue turns to sand paper, doubling in size. I try to swallow but I can’t and it turns into a cough.
“That’s none of your business, either.” I manage to get out while catching my breath.
I feel vulnerable somehow, as if I’m on display. I move to conceal as much of myself as possible and cross my legs tightly. He squints his eyes briefly, as if forming some intense thought.
“Hmmhm. That’s what I thought.” He’s self-satisfied, sitting back to loosen his tie while checking out the early evening clouds outside the oval window as if there’s nothing left to say on the topic.
His attitude pisses me off more than his words do.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I’m firm and more than a little bitchy.
He rolls his eyes back to me. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”
I curl my lips under, between my teeth, and press hard, feeling the hot air flow firmly from my flaring nostrils. “Oh, I’m not embarrassed. Excuse me if I’m not as shallow as you, who’s probably gotten enough use out of your dick since I last saw it to qualify for some frequent flier miles.”
The corner of his mouth moves in amusement. “There she is. There’s my Princess. But, about my dick … there’s only one way to know for sure.”
His eyebrow raises in question, in waiting, for my response.
“I think I’ve seen enough of your dick to last a lifetime, thank you very much.”
Please, let him believe me.
Chris licks his lips and inches forward in his seat as if I’ve just extended a dare.
“You sure about that?” He asks, his fingers acting of their own accord and masterfully pulling on the metal latch of the seat belt across his lap.
The private jet is small and empty other than the pilots up in the cockpit, yet I look around nervously, silently reprimanding myself for insisting that Roger stay behind with dad. I know if he were here, Chris would think twice about making these types of moves in public.
The last thing I want to do is panic, as that will probably feed into Chris’s giant ego even more. Instead, I sit firm and put on the bitchiest, coldest, most politicianesque scowl I can.
Either he doesn’t buy it or he doesn’t care, because he stalks toward me on the opposite side of the plane, bending his shoulders to fit under the low, curved ceiling of the cabin.
“Wha—what do you think you’re doing?” I ask as calmly as possible, although I feel my heartbeat begin to quicken with his movements.
His lip twitches and I see a flash of wicked in his eyes. “Testing a theory.”
Oh, fuck!
He pushes the pile of papers I’d placed on the long seat to the right of me, aside, and takes their place, sitting close enough to me for his thigh and knee to press against mine.
I see my chest from the bottom of my periphery begin to quiver as my breathing catches. He sees it too, the few unbuttoned closures giving him a perfect view of my trembling cleavage, which threatens to give me away.
His body is dominating my space, closing in on the few precious inches that offer me safety.
His lips, his gorgeous lips, part and I hear the breathy whisper that only he knows how to do.
“I’ll be that douche has never touched you, never really touched you.”
The hot steam that escapes with his words settles on my neck, leaving a slick vapor behind, coating the thin, delicate flesh under my ear as he speaks into it. I feel my eyes roll back, and nearly jump with trepidation mixed with excitement as I feel the familiar, slightly callused roughness of his palm take hold of my lower thigh, splaying his fingers wide over the thin weave of pantyhose that covers my leg.
“I don’t think anyone’s touched you. Not since I have. Not since it was my hand, my tongue, my cock making you feel the things only I can make you feel.”
I could push him off, could tell him to go to hell, that he’s wrong … but I’d be lying. Part of me knows no other would even come close, and the thought of settling for something other than the way he made my body scream for him, is just sad in it’s own way. So, I did the safest thing, and never gave anyone the opportunity to come in second.
I think these things coherently in my head, by there’s a disconnect as they can’t make their way to my lips. It’s as if I’m paralyzed, frozen in the moment as I feel his hand push
the material of my skirt up; the smooth, slippery nylon of the hosiery helping his efforts. His fingers tighten around the curvy flesh of my thigh as he reacquaints himself with the hidden flesh he once ruled over.
His heavy, even, breathing is like a mesmorizing metronome in my ear, keeping the beat that hypnotizes me. Everything disappears. The plane, the blackmail, Cooper, the badge on his hip that helped cause the problems between us before. Everything. It’s as if I’m in a vacuum with nothing other than his breathing, his hands, his body as it lowers down, pressing itself against mine.
I feel his knee wedge between mine and slide up high, pressing against the tightly-bound bundle of nerves that are fevering for him once more.
“Tell me if I’m wrong, Princess. Tell me you have moved on, found someone else who can make your body respond the way I can, and I swear to you I’ll never try to touch you again.”
My skirt is hitched high above my hip, his hand firm and steady as it’s moved to cover the drenched patch of thin material between my thighs. I gasp aloud and whimper at his touch, at the strength of his words and the power they have over me, hypnotizing me into this lustful trance.
My body shakes as his fingers position themselves, stroking teasingly over the delicate material that acts as the barrier between us.
“Tell me another man has ever made you this wet, has ever had you pour over him the way I know I do. Tell me someone else can do those things and I swear I’ll never try to take this pussy again.”
Instinctively, I raise my hips to bring his hand closer. I tilt my chin so he’s no longer whispering these deadly words into my ear, but is instead speaking them directly onto my lips as they hold themselves dangerously close to his.
“Tell me another man knows just the right way to kiss you to make you turn into the vixen I know you are deep down, and I promise these lips will never try to bring out that sexy little hellcat again.”
I feel his lower half press down against me and push up, moving my legs aside. I nearly cry aloud as his rock-hard cock is pushed right up against the wet patch of my panties, reminding me of just how perfectly he fits inside, hitting every inch of me just right.
