by Chelle Bliss
“Always,” she breathes, spreading her legs farther as my hand slides down her stomach.
I cup her pussy in the palm of my hand, holding her core as my lips move to her mouth. “Forever,” I reply before crashing my lips down on hers.
I devour her moans, stealing her breath with my kiss. Our tongues tangle, moving together in perfect harmony as my need builds and my cock grows. Keeping our mouths fused together, I climb between her legs and work the zipper of my pants. There’s nothing gentle or sweet about what I want to do to Reagan. I need to be inside her. Deep inside her. I need to feel every inch of her body which I know is mine.
Once my pants are down, I thrust my hard cock inside her, driving her body up the bed with the force. She clutches my biceps, hanging on as I pound into her. Over and over again, panting and moaning as I fuck her like I’ve never fucked her before. This isn’t about love. Only need consumes me and drives me forward.
She bows her back off the bed, pushing her breasts closer to my face. Sealing my lips around her nipple, I rock into her as my orgasm builds. She quakes beneath me, gasping for air. Every ounce of anger and frustration pours out of me, lessening with each stroke until the orgasm crashes over me.
She shudders beneath me, spiraling down the same path of ecstasy and clawing at my skin. I collapse on top of her, resting my forehead on hers. “I love you,” I tell her, gasping for air. “More than life itself.”
She pulls my face down, cupping my cheeks in her hands and steals what breath I have left with a kiss.
We spent the entire morning in bed. Something we haven’t done in months. We needed time to recharge, and the only way to do that was shutting out the world. We turned off our phones, unplugged the television, and took the hotel phone off the hook. No one and nothing is going to disturb our limited time together.
Reagan grabs me around the waist and pulls me back in the bed. She kisses the spot between my shoulder blades and rests her hands on my stomach. “I hate that you have to leave already.”
I hang my head, wishing more than anything I could stay longer, but we both know it’s not possible. I lay my hand over hers, caressing the soft skin with my thumb. “Join me,” I say before lifting her fingers to my mouth and peppering them with kisses. “When you leave here, come and be on the trail with me.”
Reagan rests her head on my back and sighs. “I don’t know, Jude. I’m not sure how healthy that would be for your campaign or our marriage.”
“Think about it. I want you with me when you can be.” Turning in her arms, I kiss her softly, staring at her as I do. “I always want you at my side,” I say as I pull away.
“Tyson would have a fit.” She laughs.
I climb to my feet and stare down at my naked wife as she sits with her legs tucked under her. “He could use a little excitement. I don’t need an answer now, Reagan, but I want you to know I want you with me.”
“Always,” she says with a smile before pushing herself up to come face-to-face with me. “Let me wrap up my business here, and maybe I’ll find you tomorrow.”
Walking away from her gets a little bit harder each time, but I tell myself it’s for the best. We both agree that, in the end, the time apart will be worth it to secure the governor’s mansion. But right now, with the toll it’s taking on our marriage, I hope I win and it’s not all for nothing.
Losing at this point isn’t an option.
7
Reagan
The next day is packed with impromptu meetings, and I don’t get a chance to send Jude a text longer than a few words until right before dinner.
Me: Sorry, babe. Crazy day. Getting a lot done, though. And I somehow landed a lunch with Andrea Matisse! Love you.
Andrea Matisse is a billionaire philanthropist who rarely takes meetings with lobbyists or politicians. She donates generously to the causes she believes in, but it’s well-known she doesn’t like being asked for money. I’ll have to tread carefully with her so she doesn’t think I’m fishing for a contribution for my husband.
I almost didn’t even try to get a meeting with her since no one is ever successful, and I knew it would be a waste of time. But then Jude reminded me that the only way to guarantee I never meet her is to not even ask. And now that I get to meet her in a few days, it’s not her money I’m interested in. I just have a thousand questions I’m burning to ask her about life, love, and how she juggles it all.
Andrea and her husband Olivier are famously polar opposite. He’s a French investment banker from a wealthy family, and she’s a shrewd, self-made fashion magnate. He’s laid-back and conservative. She’s bold and fearless. I’m especially interested in anything she may have to say about what makes their marriage work so well. It’s well known they’re deeply in love.
A text back from Jude makes me smile.
Jude: That’s my girl. Proud of you, baby. When’s the lunch?
Me: Thursday or Friday. Her assistant won’t have her travel itinerary finalized until Wednesday.
Jude: Damn.
Me: What?
Jude: I was hoping you’d be here with me by then. I understand, though. You can’t miss an opportunity like that.
Me: How’s your day going?
Jude: Good. Going to dinner with some donors in 45 min.
Me: Who?
Jude: The Branch brothers.
Me: Ah, nice. They’re a sure thing, love.
Jude: Yep. I can just relax and have a few drinks and a good steak. Should be fun. Wish you were coming with, though.
Me: I know. Me too.
Jude: Talk to your boss yet about being able to work from the road?
Me: No, didn’t get a chance.
Jude: Do it tomorrow if you can. I really want you here with me. We can have a Chicago staffer keep up with everything at the house, so don’t worry about that.
Me: I’ll do my best, babe.
Jude: Have to get in the shower. Call me later.
Me: When will your dinner be done?
Jude: It doesn’t matter if it’s done. I’ll step out to take your call.
Me: Okay. I love you.
Jude: Love you too.
I tuck my phone back into my bag and close the door to my small office so I can get some work done. During the day, people are constantly in and out of here, often sitting down to talk. I like it since I don’t get to be in this office much, but it’s hard to get much done. I’ll use this evening to return emails and make a few phone calls.
Since Jude came to see me, I’m feeling grounded again. When things are off with us, things are off in every other area of my life, too. Before I met him, my foundation came from within myself. But now, our marriage is my emotional foundation. He’s so much more than just my lover and partner. Jude is my best friend. The yin to my yang. The first person I want to talk to, whether it’s about something good or bad.
I notice a growling in my stomach when the sun starts to set, so I order some vegetable fried rice from a Chinese place that delivers and keep powering through until it arrives.
When I finally get to eat, I curl up in the small armchair in the corner of my office, trying to clear my mind of all the things I still want to get done tonight. This job is unending. There’s always another connection to be made, another meeting to set up. I like that, but at times, it overwhelms me.
When my bosses hired me for this job, they told me to work at my own pace. Jude scoffed at that when I told him and said they knew damned well I only have one pace—full speed ahead. But I love a challenge, and I’m passionate about bipartisanship. I’m quite lucky to have fallen into a job that works so well, considering I’m a former Democratic state rep who’s married to a Republican senator. I thought the political world might consider me a woman without a country when word hit that Jude and I were together and I was dropping out of the Senate race.
I want to be with Jude on the campaign trail. Not because he’s campaigning, but because I always want to be wherever he is. But it’ll be near impossible t
o do my job from the campaign trail.
This job requires in-person contact, and DC is where I have most of my meetings. I occasionally have some in Chicago or New York, but most political back-and-forth happens in the nation’s capital. If I’m on the road with Jude, I’d barely have time for a few phone calls and emails every day. That’s not the kind of job I want to be doing.
And then there’s the truth that’s been nagging in the back of my mind all day—how can I claim to be working to create bipartisanship when I’m actively stumping for a Republican candidate, even if he is my husband? His opponent is no fool, and she’ll be telling the power players in the Democratic Party that I’m all talk about being middle of the road.
I scoop the last bite of rice from the white box and toss the container into the trash can, returning to my desk. If I had a couch in my office, that’s where I’d be sleeping tonight. Instead, I’ll probably take an Uber to my hotel around ten, talk to Jude, and then crash before getting up in the morning to do it all over again.
I’m enormously proud of Jude and his campaign for governor. But if I went with him on the campaign trail, I’d be there as his wife. He’d have my emotional support. I could charm crusty old donors and chat up women he’s seeking support from. We’d go to bed together every night.
But Jude has a talented staff to help him with his campaign. He wants me there, but he doesn’t need me. The independent woman in me needs to keep some things for myself, and my career means a lot to me.
He’s so domineering that I don’t think he’d hear me if I tried to tell him all of this. I don’t even know how to say it in a way he’d listen to. Jude is like a tall, looming ocean wave—inescapable and all-consuming. We’d just end up fighting, and I hate that.
So, for now, I’m keeping these thoughts to myself. Jude needs to focus on his work, and I need to focus on mine. He’s likely to get so busy he’ll forget about asking me to join him on the campaign trail anyway, so why invite trouble?
8
Jude
Louis Branch stares at me over the rim of his brandy. “While you’re an honorable man and possibly the best candidate for governor, we still have concerns.”
I dip my head, gripping the armrests of the chair a little tighter. The man has been hung up on Reagan since the moment we sat down. He’s mentioned her name at least ten times, bringing her father into the conversation too. I’m beyond annoyed, but somehow, I maintain my cool. Coming from a military background, I know how to stay calm in a sticky situation, but politics is another beast and my wife is completely off-limits. “I understand your concerns, but my private life is just that…private.”
Tyson adjusts in his seat, clearing his voice because he doesn’t like my tone. The glance he shoots across the table is anything but pleasant. “What Jude’s trying to say…”
“I know exactly what I’m trying to say,” I interrupt Tyson, waving him off with my hand to silence him. “Politics is something my wife and I don’t discuss in the privacy of our home. Just as I don’t discuss my wife when it comes to my campaign and political office.”
“I see,” Thomas Branch says before taking a sip of his brandy, staring at me the same way his brother is. “We both understand separating our business and personal lives, Mr. Titan, but every man at this table knows that women have a way of…what’s the word I’m—”
“Playing with our heads until they get their way,” Louis finishes the statement and laughs, placing his glass on the table in front of him. “I know my wife always has an opinion.” He twists the base of his snifter against the crisp white linen and shakes his head. “And her opinions sometimes affect my decisions.”
“My wife is not short on opinions, that I can assure you. But she plays no role in my decisions. We’re too opposite of each other to ever allow the political realm to enter our home. She has her work, which she enjoys and keeps her focused on her goals, and I have my work, which I believe is important, and I work my ass off to represent my constituents.”
“I’m sure your father-in-law has things to say.”
I lean forward and fold my hands together on top of the table. “My father-in-law is a piece of shit. He has no part in my life or my campaign. I married his daughter, not the man.”
“How did you convince a woman with such a deep political background and fierce spirit to quit the race?” Louis asked, taking another sip. His eyes don’t waver from mine.
I laugh at the absurdity of his statement. “You don’t make a woman like Reagan do anything, Mr. Branch.”
“Maybe she’s secretly a Republican,” Thomas says.
“I can assure you that’s not the case.” The statement is so absurd, I can’t say anything more.
Louis shoves his hand inside his suit jacket, retrieving his checkbook. “Mr. Titan,” he says, twisting the top of his pen, “I feel you’re a man of your word. I’ve never heard anything to contradict my perception of you. Over the last five years, you’ve never swayed from your original platform and have remained true to your constituents.”
Tyson smirks as he watches Louis Branch write out the check. He’s practically salivating at all the zeros. I, on the other hand, am wondering if they’re just a more reputable version of Mr. Marino, hiding behind their fancy suits and corporations. Behind that much wealth, there’s always a dark side. No one becomes as powerful as the Branch brothers without bending a few rules and strong-arming a few people, including politicians.
Mr. Branch tears off the check, and he slides the tiny slip of paper across the table but doesn’t lift his fingers. “We have faith in you. Don’t let us down.”
There’s a seriousness to his tone I haven’t heard before. Every dollar I take toward my campaign feels like I’m digging a hole filled with favors and IOUs. I thought my race for Senate was a pain in the ass, but it doesn’t hold a candle to running for governor.
“I will stay true to my platform and the promises I make to the voters.”
He stares at me for a moment, probably wondering if that means I’d bow to his wishes when he finally decides to put pressure on me about some issue that could affect Branch Enterprises. But what he doesn’t know is his donation is just that and nothing more. It’s not a promise for a future favor or passing legislation that’ll hurt the people I serve while making him richer.
He taps the check with his fingernail before finally pulling his hand away. I don’t move right away, never wanting to seem too eager to take money from anyone because that’s the way I’m built.
But Tyson, he’s nothing like me, and he snatches the check off the table, folding it neatly before stowing it away in his jacket pocket. “Thank you.” Tyson’s smile widens. “We’ll put this to good use.”
Pushing back from the table, I shake Louis’s and Thomas’s hands before I make up some bullshit to excuse myself from the final small talk. The last thing I want is to sit there and listen to the three of them talk about Washington and “old times.”
I walk into my room, shrugging off my suit jacket and loosening my tie. More than anything, including sitting with the three men downstairs, I want to see my wife’s face. I fire up the laptop, making myself comfortable on the bed while I wait for her to answer my online call.
After three short rings, her beautiful face fills my screen. “Hey, handsome,” she says, leaning forward and pushing the laptop across the bed to get comfortable.
My gaze dips to her breasts as they practically spill out of her top. “Hey, beautiful. I’ve missed you.”
“I miss you too.” She frowns as her eyes drop to the mattress for a moment. “How did your meeting go with the Branch brothers?”
Leaning backward, I pull the laptop across my legs and ease back into the pillows. “The same shit as always. They think I’m in their back pocket.” Reagan watches me as I remove my tie, her eyes following my hands carefully.
“We both know that’s never going to happen. Not with the Branch brothers, at least.”
I know where sh
e’s going. Or, at least, where she could go after that statement. Probably some small little innocent jab about Dominic Marino. “Enough about work. Show me your magnificent tits.” I give her a quick wink, being playful but dead fucking serious.
Reagan smirks, lifting herself on her elbows just enough that I can see down her shirt. “Oh, you’re in a classy mood. You mean these?” she asks, jiggling her breasts right into the camera.
“I’m too horny for classy, baby. Come on. Just a small peek.”
The camera dips as she sits upright, crossing her legs in front of her body. “This is like old times,” she says as she fumbles with the buttons on her blouse, moving so slowly I swear she’s trying to torture me.
“I remember you being faster than this,” I tease her as I place the laptop between my legs.
She smiles as she spreads open just enough of her shirt to show me the swells of her breasts, but not enough. “If I’m showing you mine, you have to show me yours too. It’s only fair.” She quirks an eyebrow.
I laugh softly, shaking my head as I pull off my dress shirt and throw it to the floor. I have no problem showing Reagan everything I have, but she’s going to do the same. The distance is becoming unbearable, and we’ve only been apart a few days. The only thing I want is to sink between my wife’s legs and listen to her moan my name. I don’t want to be alone in an overpriced hotel room. I miss the days of her being in the next room and finding reasons and ways to see her.
“Happy now?” I ask, moving farther away from the camera to give her a better view.
“Pants too,” she says, almost giggling.
“Do the same,” I tell her, and I’m almost giddy. I remember the last time we had virtual sex over the internet, and it was hot as fucking hell.
I’m all in, totally excited about the entire thing and yanking down my pants like a pubescent virgin teenager with a raging hard-on. She scrambles off the bed, away from the camera, but I can hear the rustling of her clothes.
