Dirty Defiance (Filthy Series Book 3)

by Chelle Bliss

  I grumble under my breath as I head to the back of the campaign bus, closing myself away before collapsing on the bed. I never dreaded being on the road as much as I do this time. Being away from Reagan, especially when we’re fighting, is hell on earth. I close my eyes and sling my arm over my face, blocking out the faint glow of the sun and pray for enough hours to feel like myself again.

  “Mr. Titan, I’d like you to meet my wife,” Mr. Carter, a major donor for the Illinois Republican political party, says as he tightens his grip around his wife’s waist. “She’s been excited to meet the new face of the party.”

  My smile’s soft as I take her hand in mine and brush my lips against her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”

  She blushes right on cue, staring at me with dreamy eyes as she stands next to her husband who looks well over twenty years her senior. “The pleasure’s all mine,” she replies and licks her lips, looking like she wants more than a simple hello.

  Mr. Carter pulls her backward, staking his claim on the younger woman as her hand falls away from mine. “I was impressed with your speech earlier at the NRA rally. I think you’re just what we need to breathe new life and secure the future of the party for many years to come.”

  The man’s all business, but then, everyone is at these events. The evening is supposed to be about veterans and the issues they face, especially how I can help make their lives better. But politics always gets in the way. He’s dressed to the nines in a tuxedo with his hair slicked back, stinking of wealth.

  “Thank you, sir.” I dip my chin, keeping the fake smile that already has my cheeks aching securely plastered on my face. “We look forward to doing everything possible to help the veterans and the Republican Party in the great state of Illinois.”

  “Our contribution will be large,” Mrs. Carter says, not waiting for her husband to respond to my statement. “Almost obscene.” She grins as she rakes her eyes up my body, not trying to hide her desire in front of her husband.

  “My wife and I appreciate your support.” I throw that in, reminding her I’m a married man, but she’s a married woman and that fact hasn’t stopped her from undressing me with her eyes.

  “Where is Mrs. Titan?” Mr. Carter asks, glancing around the room.

  “She’s on business in DC,” I tell him as I wish Tyson would find his way to me and pull me away from the Carters. Knowing Tyson, he’s leaving me be, praying like hell that the amount of the Carters donation will be in the high six figures.

  “I don’t know how you do it, Titan. Marriage isn’t easy, and marrying a liberal has to cause major problems.”

  “It’s not that difficult. We don’t discuss politics.”

  It’s a lie, but the words sound good rolling off my tongue. The very foundation of our relationship is built on politics and our down and dirty race so many years ago.

  “Smart man,” Mr. Carter says as Tyson finally weaves his way through the crowd to come and stand at my side.

  “Ah,” Tyson says, placing his hand on Mr. Carter’s shoulder, deflecting some of the attention away from me. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Fred.”

  “We were just talking with your man here.” Carter eyes me like I’m property.

  I tuck my hand into my pocket, rubbing a stone Reagan had given me to keep my anger in check. She said it helped her in tight situations and thought it would be a useful tool for me on the campaign trail this season. Standing in a crowd of veterans, but having to schmooze with the wealthy instead, didn’t sit right with me. There was no greater cause, not even a contribution, that meant more to me than my fellow Marines.

  “Why don’t we get a drink?” Tyson tells him, ticking his head toward the bar.

  “That would be grand.” Carter smiles, giving me a quick nod before strolling away with Tyson.

  For a moment, I think I’m in the clear, but Mrs. Carter doesn’t follow. She moves forward, closing the space between us, and touches my arm. “It’s a shame your wife couldn’t be here.”

  “It is, ma’am,” I say, sliding my arm out from under her hand and dipping my head. “I’m sorry to run off, but I need to prepare for my speech.”

  “Of course. Of course.” She laughs and pushes her long blond hair behind her shoulder. “We’ll talk later I’m sure.”

  Not if I can help it, but I nod in agreement before heading to the other side of the ballroom and away from Mrs. Carter. She’s nothing but trouble. I’ve known too many of her kind not to know that she isn’t interested in my political platform. She wants a piece of the man, the power I could potentially wield. She doesn’t give a damn about veterans or my agenda; she wants to get in my pants, and I’m having none of that.

  Even on our worst day, when I’m so angry with Reagan I want to throw her against the wall and fuck her into compliance, there’s no other woman for me. No one else could ever fill her shoes. She may be a pain in my ass at times, but I know I’m not easy either. We work. We’re too much alike and yet completely different that we’re a perfect match.

  I’m sick of being angry with her. I’m tired of fighting. All I want is my wife by my side, my best friend in this fight, having my back like she always has. I type her a quick message before jamming the phone back into my pocket, praying it’ll be enough to at least call a truce.

  5

  Reagan

  I sip my water, pretending to pay attention to Andre Walker as he bitches about the House Majority Leader. It’s not that I don’t get it—the majority leader is a tenacious woman. But her party has the upper hand right now, and she’s just wielding the power any good leader would in her position.

  And also, nonstop bitching is my pet peeve. It accomplishes nothing.

  “Does she not realize she has to build bridges?” Andre’s eyes bulge with his question. “I mean, we can make her life difficult.”

  This dinner was supposed to be a chance to discuss the Lancet Foundation’s goals for this quarter, but Andre spent the entire two hours talking about old times and mining for information about my father.

  I don’t talk to my father much these days, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell Andre about it. He’s never been a close friend of mine.

  “I need to hit the loo.” Andre grins at his feigned British accent, picking up his glass to drain the last of the beer in it as he stands. “Be right back.”

  As soon as he’s gone, I exhale deeply, letting my shoulders sag. It’s been a very long two hours of trying to get Andre to focus on the reason I wanted to talk to him. I’ve also got Jude on my mind. I miss him terribly, and I’m starting to wonder why I gave up all my time with him on this rare campaign break just to prove a point.

  Showing your partner you’re stubborn doesn’t strengthen your marriage, our marriage counselor, Melissa, has told us both time and again. It’s not about winning a fight. It’s about giving and taking to keep the harmony.

  Our harmony lately has sounded a lot like 80’s hair bands. I don’t want to be a woman who resents my husband’s career. I’m exceedingly proud of Jude and everything he’s done and will do as governor.

  He’s fighting a tough battle for governor against a woman who founded a highly successful tech company. She has unlimited resources to put into her campaign. Jude has to earn a victory by hitting the ground running in every last one of Illinois’ 102 counties. Many counties, like Cook, have to be visited regularly.

  And he’s also still serving as senator. Jude is under a lot of stress, and I know in my heart that I made it worse instead of better by leaving.

  I take out my wallet, pulling out my company Amex to pay the dinner bill. When I check my phone as I wait, my heart thuds happily at the message I see from Jude.

  Let’s work this out, Ray. I’m catching a late fight to DC tonight, and I’ll meet you in your room later. Getting the hotel details from Julia.

  My breath catches in my throat as I read the words. He’s coming here. Tonight. Jude Titan isn’t a man who chases or begs, but he swallowed his
pride and decided to come here to set things right.

  My lips quirk into a smile as I remember a conversation we had on our wedding night.

  “Let’s never go to bed angry with each other, Jude.” I was straddling his lap on our hotel bed, looking down into his dark, intense eyes.

  “We go to bed angry with each other all the time, love. Then we get up the next morning and have makeup sex.”

  “I know, but now that we’re married…I think we should try to always work out our problems before going to sleep.”

  He laughed heartily at that. “We’ll be up till sunrise some nights if we do that.”

  “That’s not true.” I poked him in the ribs. “We just have to agree that some things aren’t worth fighting over.”

  Jude’s expression turned serious. “I fell in love with you because you’re a fighter, Ray. You’re passionate and strong and tireless. Never change.”

  “I don’t plan to. I’m talking about you backing down so we never go to bed pissed at each other.”

  He flipped me onto my back in an instant, leaving me staring up at him breathlessly. “You think your husband is a man who backs down?”

  “Not really. But maybe, if properly motivated…” I grinned and bit my lip.

  “Oh, you don’t even know, do you?” He arched his brows in question, grinning back at me. “Nothing motivates me like our fights do. You’re the only woman I’ve ever known who can put me in my place.”

  “And don’t you forget it.”

  He scoffed. “I put you in your place a lot more often.”

  When I opened my mouth to protest, he silenced me with a long, slow kiss. I savored the feel of his weight on top of me, his hands pinning my wrists to the mattress.

  When he pulled his lips from mine, he murmured, “I’m never giving up our makeup sex.”

  “Ma’am?”

  I look up and see our server standing next to the table. He gestures at the Amex in my hand.

  “Would you like me to take care of your check?”

  “Oh.” I shake my head, returning to the now. “Yes, thanks.”

  I pass him the card. Andre returns to the table just as the server is walking away.

  “Oh, hey, I was gonna get that,” he says, giving me a look.

  Liar. I’ve had half a dozen lunches or dinners with him, and every time, he goes to the bathroom when it’s time for the check to come and then pretends he planned on paying it.

  “No, it’s my turn.” I wave a hand and smile.

  Andre returns my smile, probably feeling chivalrous. “So, how’s Jude doing? Looks like Tyson’s running him ragged.” He sits back down across from me.

  “They’re very busy, but it’s good. Jude’s got the endurance for campaigning.”

  “Probably not as much fun as when he ran against you, though.” Andre quirks a grin at me.

  “But now his former opponent is on his team.”

  Andre shakes his head. “I still don’t know how you guys do it. You must have some interesting dinnertime conversations.”

  “Always. But I can honestly say that being married to Jude has made me a better person. I see things differently now.”

  “You guys have one side of your bedroom painted red and the other side blue, though, right?” Andre teases.

  Our server returns with our check, and I thank him and open the folder to sign.

  “Honestly?” I smile at Andre across the table. “Our bedroom is gray and purple. Gray because things are never black or white, and purple because that’s what you get when you mix red and blue. Those are our two favorite colors.”

  Andre cocks his brows in surprise. “Really? That strapping, tattooed, muscled, gun-toting Republican likes purple? I might have to leak this to the papers, Mrs. Titan.”

  I laugh at the comment from the man who got his start on my father’s staff. “Jude’s not ashamed. He mentions it at campaign rallies. We’re all about bipartisanship and compromise. Team Purple.”

  Andre stands, extending his hand to me for a handshake. “The Lancet Foundation is lucky to have you. Let me know how my caucus can help this quarter. You know you have our full support.”

  “Wonderful, thank you.”

  “Tell your husband I said hello.”

  “I will.”

  We head for the restaurant’s exit, making small talk as I wait for my Uber. As soon as it pulls up, I say goodbye to Andre and slide into the sedan.

  My heart pounds with anticipation. Jude might be in my room right now. Even after all these years, nothing gets me going like the way he looks at me when I walk into a room. His gaze is always dark and loaded with desire. I’ve never seen him look at any other woman that way.

  I shouldn’t have left like I did, though I’m not sure I’m ready to admit it. And if I know my husband as well as I think I do, he intends to make me pay for it in my hotel room tonight.

  He puts up with my defiance outside the bedroom, though it drives him crazy at times. But when the bedroom door closes, he’s in complete control of me.

  Though he knows I like it, I’m not sure he knows just how much. My stomach is spinning with excitement and anticipation over the thought of his hands on me.

  Touching me.

  Teasing me.

  Owning me.

  We never gave up our makeup sex. We just redefined it.

  6

  Jude

  I sleep on the plane, getting a few hours of shut-eye before touching down in DC. Tyson had a shit fit when I told him I was leaving for a bit, and he tried to stop me, even though he knew he couldn’t. No events on the schedule until tomorrow night, and at the moment, there was nothing more important than my marriage.

  Julia, Reagan’s assistant, came through. Not only did she give me the name and location of her hotel, she had my name added to the reservation, so I could swipe a key from the front desk. When I opened the door, Reagan wasn’t in there, probably busy talking up some politician over dinner, but she knew I’d be waiting.

  I make myself comfortable, kicking off my shoes and loosening my tie before stretching out across the bed. Staring at the door, I wait for what seems like hours, but is only minutes before Reagan walks in.

  “Jude,” she says, dropping her purse to the floor and walking quickly in my direction.

  I slide down, swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and wrap my arms around her waist. “I’ve missed you,” I tell her as I press my face against her stomach and inhale her scent. I slip my hand underneath her shirt, resting my hand on the small of her back as I peer up into her blue eyes. “I’m sorry I left like that.”

  Reagan tangles her fingers in my hair and smiles down at me. “I’m sorry for everything too. I shouldn’t have been so pissed and pushy.”

  I laugh, shaking my head as my hand slides down her back and cups her ass. “You don’t know how not to be pushy. It’s in your nature.”

  She sighs and leans forward, pressing her lips to mine. The kiss is soft and gentler than I expect after everything that’s happened in the last forty-eight hours. “I don’t want to fight anymore, Jude,” she whispers as she stares into my eyes.

  I cup her cheek in my hand, peering up at her with my other hand still resting on her ass. “I don’t want to fight either, love. I’ve been greedy with your time, and you need to focus on your work more.”

  We stay like that, staring at each other without saying another word for a few seconds. The air in the room is thick as I slide the zipper on her skirt down slowly, letting the metal catch on every tooth, building the anticipation. Reagan and I are always explosive in the bedroom. It’s the one place we never argue.

  She steps out of her skirt as soon as the material hits the carpet. My breath hitches at the sight of my favorite black lace panties, and my cock hardens. “Were you expecting company?” I ask, looping my finger under the edge of the delicate material resting on her hip and raise an eyebrow.

  “No.” She raises her chin. “I wanted to feel sexy tonight. I n
eeded to feel more like myself to get through this meeting.”

  “Who was the lucky person?” I’m jealous when I shouldn’t be. Whoever she met with didn’t see what she had on underneath her clothes, but I still didn’t like it.

  “Andre.”

  Every ounce of jealousy or annoyance I have disappears at the mention of his name. He’s the last man in the world I have to worry about. Reagan can barely stand his presence, and even on our worse day, he doesn’t stand a chance of seeing her panties.

  “I don’t like it,” I say, because no matter what she says, she likes when I’m a little jealous. She likes when I remind her she’s mine, proving to her there’s no one else in the world who does it for me except her.

  She steps backward, biting her lip and hiding her small smile as her fingers work the buttons of her blouse. Her eyes are on me as she pushes open her blouse, shrugging the silk material over her shoulders and fully exposing her breasts. I reach out, needing to touch her, but she steps back and out of my grasp.

  “Not yet,” she says and shakes her head, playing a game that I don’t like nor have the patience for.

  I lunge forward, grabbing her around the waist and toss her on the bed, ready to devour my wife for the first time in days. “Stop playing games, baby.” I crawl next to her, settling half my weight on top of her as I cup her breast in one hand.

  She laughs, knowing exactly what she’s doing, but it dies quickly when my thumb toys with her nipple. “Jude,” she almost stutters, and her hips rise off the bed.

  I brush her hair away from her shoulder and press my lips to her neck, kissing the one spot I know drives her wild. She turns her head, giving me access to every inch of her soft skin. I breathe her in, becoming drunk on her scent and the feel of her flesh against me. She moans as I pinch her nipple between my fingertips through the lace material of her bra.

  “Mine,” I remind her, speaking the words as I nibble on the curve of her neck before sinking my teeth into her skin just enough to make her quiver.