by Faye, Amy
His cock rammed down her throat, threateningly close to orgasm at any moment. He pulled her off and she tried to pull herself off again. He slapped her. "You want to be treated like a whore? Then obey me like a whore."
Her eyes fluttered shut in something that must have been very close to arousal. "Lay down," he growled, and she did. He lined himself up between her thighs and entered her. Her hips made a solid grip for his hands and he made liberal use of them as he moved, hard and rough. It wasn't lovemaking, they were doing. He had never been particularly gentle with any of his lovers.
Lara was no exception, and never had been, but this was something else entirely. He didn't need it to be something long and drawn out. He didn't need it to be anything at all, as long as he got what he wanted out of it. That was what she'd asked him for and he wasn't for a moment afraid to deliver.
"You fucking like that, don't you?"
She moaned and reached out for him. Paul reached forward and pressed one hand down on her throat. She clutched at it, but once she finally had a grip she made no move to pull him away. If anything she pulled him down on her harder.
He used that grip on her neck to pull against, to thrust harder. He could feel himself deep inside, her pussy tightening and spasming with every thrust. Her eyes were shut and she was making a list of every curse word he'd ever heard.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, yes, fuck me you fucking bastard."
He obliged. He could feel the edge approaching rapidly, and for an instant he couldn't decide whether or not to pull out. But if she wanted something violent, if she wanted something passionate, if she wanted more than he had given her before, then there was no real choice.
He let out a primal yell and thrust again, his hips moving as quickly as he could move them his knees threatening to slip from underneath her hips as he drove his cock into her again and again. The end was in sight, now, but he didn't hesitate for a moment.
His hips met hers in rough, powerful strokes and she let out a little yelp as he put all of his weight down on her neck, not thinking for a second about anything but how to get deeper inside when he spent himself.
He thrust in, grunting and panting, and finally when he couldn't take it any more he let himself finish. His cock spasmed hard, shooting rope after rope of thick, potent cum inside her. He didn't know if she was protected in any way, and the truth was that he didn't care.
She was his, and she'd always been his. Even when he was away, even when she'd left him, she was his, and now she was going to learn it the only way he knew how to teach.
He loosened his grip around her throat and noted with a vague sense of self-satisfaction the red hand-shaped mark that he left behind. He leaned down, his cock still inside her, still most of the way hard, and thrust one more time for good measure as it softened, pulling her nipple between his lips and enjoying the way that she moved up to meet his lips, to press herself more fully into his mouth and meet him with her body.
"That was good," he said finally as he pulled out. His fingers moved to her pussy, teasing it even as he knew that nothing would come of it. "I'm not going to let you go ever again, if it's going to be like that every time."
30
Being surrounded by people she didn't know was starting to feel normal to Lara, which seemed strange and wrong in a thousand new ways every day. What wasn't usual was to have those strangers sending her texts. Telling her to call them.
How could they have gotten her number, even? She shivered. She tried to keep herself out of the spotlight, and for the most part Lara felt like she succeeded. Nobody knew her name unless she told it to someone. Or, sometimes, Tim told them. She didn't introduce herself to many people. Nobody who wasn't on the plane with them. There was no reason to.
Of course, that didn't mean her face wasn't on the cover of several tabloids, she knew. There was a lot of talk, and yes, some of it was certainly true. That didn't mean that they knew her name. So far she'd been able to avoid that. There was no doubt that the news crews currently had interns, likely unpaid, looking through enrollment records of every law school in the greater Salt Lake City area from 2004 to 2008 to see if they could find a face that matched those pictures, as well.
She let out a breath and clicked the red button on her phone. It was probably a telemarketer. She was letting the entire situation get to her, and it wasn't becoming. If that call had come two weeks ago, she'd have thought nothing of it and hung up before she gave it a second thought.
The fact that she was on the trail with Paul, though, was making her cagey. Cagier than she needed to be, that much was for sure. She rubbed her face hard and turned to the complimentary coffee maker in the hotel room. It was cheap and it barely made enough for her alone, only two or three cups full.
But it got the job done, and on the road she couldn't be picky. Whatever the hotel had, that was what she would simply need to make do with. No other way around it.
She took a breath and looked out the window, letting her foul mood color the lights outside. Two days, they'd been here. Two days of antibiotics, two days of doctors. Two days of doctors' bills. Oh, Paul would pick them up. She knew that.
But what if he hadn't been there? What if she'd been alone? That would have meant overtime, and a lot of it. Far, far more than two days' worth. Two days that she couldn't spend with Tim because she had to spend her money.
It was ironic that so many people who were desperate for money had no children. They married, maybe, or maybe they didn't; but they never had children. And for what reason?
Because they were hungry for money.
It was easy to understand why a parent would be desperate. Why they would want money so bad they'd be willing to do anything to do it. But when you've got only yourself to look out for? No such thing. She frowned and rubbed her head. Drink your coffee, she told herself. Drink your coffee and get your head on straight.
Her phone rang again. It made an awful buzzing noise, where it rested on the table. She looked down at it again sourly. The same number. So it wasn't a telemarketer. They never called twice. It was a waste of their time.
She pressed the red button again to cancel the call. She didn't need any kind of attention on her at all, and giving them the time of day was only going to make whoever it was more interested. Once she let them in, they were in. She didn't get to change her mind any more.
Lara took a deep breath, faced away from the balcony and drank deeply. The coffee wasn't hot any more; it was only warm, and she finished the cup in one easy mouthful.
She had places to be. Places more important than her hotel room. She had to go see Tim. Maybe he had made a recovery or maybe he hadn't. But she couldn't stay away and she couldn't stand not knowing.
A man was waiting outside her door, black suit, earpiece, the whole dig. "Miss Beech," he said. The Secret Service that seemed to be around them all constantly were consummate professionals. If he had any qualms about watching his boss's booty call then he didn't show it. She appreciated that because it could have been very awkward for everyone involved. But he didn't make it any worse than it had to be.
"Is it alright if I go to the hospital?"
He shook his head. "No problem at all, ma'am. We'll take you to a car."
They did so. There were three cars in the fleet, it seemed, no matter where they went they had three cars, nearly identical in every way. She couldn't see many changes in the ones that weren't Paul's specifically; they looked to her much like they must have looked out of the factory.
That didn't mean they were actually similar to the cars that she could buy, of course. She knew that much. There was a very, very good chance that there were changes made under the hood. Probably bullet-proofed, with a more-powerful engine to handle the extra weight. She couldn't imagine what kind of gas mileage they got, but it couldn't have been good.
The ride was silent. She didn't have anything to say, and if Secret Service men had personal lives they didn't let her into them. She felt another vibration an
d looked again. The same number. She frowned and clicked the answer button, but she didn't say anything when she put the phone to her ear.
A long moment passed, a moment in which she considered hanging up. Then finally a voice on the other end of the line spoke. "Lara Beech?"
Lara rubbed her head. "Who is this and why do you keep calling me?"
"You don't want to hang up," the man's voice on the other end didn't seem threatening, even as his words left little room for doubt about how she was supposed to interpret the comments.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm trying to be a friend here. I don't want to put your name out there, or anything like that. But if I have to, then I have to."
Lara's teeth ground together. "How did you get this number?"
"I wouldn't worry about that."
"No? What would you worry about?"
He barked a laugh. "What I would worry about? I'd worry about getting involved with anyone related to Helen Green. She's a real warrior, that woman. You pick your battles well. But what I'm worried about for you is that someone finds out exactly what your relationship with Paul Green is, what it was. What his relationship to your son is."
"There's nothing to find out," she told him. One of the Secret Service guys looked at her quizzically. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to tell them but she knew that she wasn't happy with the call.
"You know what? I've got a friend I want you to talk to. One second."
She started to pull the phone away. "I wouldn't do that," the voice said.
She put the phone back to her ear. "Okay, what do you want from me?"
The guy who had turned to look at her signaled to put the voice on the other end of the phone onto speaker. She shook her head. He'd hear it right away. No doubt about it.
"What I want? I want you to think about your son, and about what it might mean to him that his father abandoned him. Have a good day, Lara. I'll be in touch."
She hung up the phone. The Secret Service guy in the front glowered at her just a little bit under their usual veneer of professionalism.
"Was that a threatening phone call, Miss Beech? You should have let me take the phone. We have ways of dealing with people like that."
"Not exactly," she said. She rubbed her head, and like he had told her, like she had every day since Paul had come back into her life, she thought about what it would mean to Tim that Paul was his father. "I think… I don't know what to think."
They looked at her like they wanted a recounting of what was said. They had another few minutes before they would be at the hospital anyways. So she started from the beginning, and left out the parts that she didn't want to discuss along the way.
31
Paul's face pulled as he heard the words coming out of Robbie's mouth. He was a good agent, that was true. And the entire agency knew what they were doing, so when they started worrying about something, then he didn't have to question whether or not it was a good idea to listen.
That made him doubly worried, though, when they were worried about someone else. When it was Lara, that went double still, because she was the only person he knew who, in general, Paul would call good. Everyone else was shades of gray, darker than neutral.
Lara, though? Who would threaten her?
It was hard to guess without knowing what the man on the other end of the line wanted. It was easy to figure out in the broadest strokes possible. She was in a position close to him, and if they knew something about the relationship that she had with Paul, if they had figured out their relationship ten years ago, then they knew that putting strings on her was very likely to put strings on him, too.
But there were a thousand things that someone might want. They might want him to push legislation, they might want information about him, they might just be causing chaos for that matter. The options were too many and too varied to make any solid guesses without more information.
His head hurt. He needed to figure this all out, but he was too slow and his head hurt too damn much. He looked over at Rob, whose expression remained impassive. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Senator. We'll take care of it."
"I trust that you will. But I can't just ignore it, either, can I?"
"I suppose not, sir."
Paul stood up and paced away. He should be at the hospital, too, he knew. She'd told him that he had nothing to do with the boy and he believed her because otherwise it opened a whole different can of worms that he wasn't remotely ready to think about at that moment.
"What would you do?"
"What would I do?"
"If you were in my position. What would you do?"
"I don't know, sir. I think there's a little bit of difference between your position and mine. It's hard to say."
"You don't have to be coy, Rob. Tell me what you'd do. I'm not going to get offended."
"Sir?"
"Speak freely."
"Sir, I don't think I would be chasing two rabbits at once. I'd pick one and chase that one down, then if I needed some other rabbit, I'd let the first one go. Sir."
The comment stung like a slap but Paul tried to keep it off his face. It wasn't bad advice. He had to admit, it wasn't even as if it hadn't occurred to him.
What was the alternative, though? He'd been tied to the woman he was with, rather than trying to clamp down on her. He had already tried to drop her and move on, to change the course that his life was on, but it seemed that the new hitch wasn't interested.
More than that, she still seemed angry about it. He rubbed his head and thought harder about it. Rob was right, and furthermore he'd known it all along. He'd only been fooling himself, thinking that he could have it all. Only an idiot would think that in the first place.
He could have the politics, he could have the power. He could have whatever he wanted. The fact that the Democratic party had nominated him was all he needed to prove that. The fact that President Noble was one of the weakest incumbents in a century certainly didn't help, either. His poll numbers hadn't been above thirty percent since his first year in office. 'One term and out' was all anyone expected of him.
Paul wasn't even absolutely sure that he needed to actively campaign. Certainly not as much as he had been. He could run on the 'D' beside his name and the fact that he wasn't Rob Noble.
But he couldn't have the Presidency without Helen, and the more that the years passed he wasn't sure that the trade off was worth it. He couldn't have a real family, not with her around. He couldn't have a real wife, not with her around.
There were three things here and he wasn't sure what he wanted. He tried to avoid it; he knew immediately what he was doing when he suddenly started looking around the room at the way that he'd left it in relative disarray. Living out of a suitcase meant that it never much mattered if he unpacked. He might as well just leave it that way.
But now it seemed imperative that he pack it all up, get everything straightened out and ready. He forced himself to stay sitting. "I need a ride."
The Secret Service agent nodded. "Okay, you're the boss." They drove in silence. Paul wasn't sure whether or not he preferred that, but he had a lot on his mind that needed to be thought through. A lot of trouble that he needed to sort out first thing, and then eventually maybe he'd be ready for some kind of long conversation.
The problem, the big problem, was that he didn't understand the entire situation and he knew it. If he had the choice to make over again, he knew what he'd choose deep down in his bones. He'd already come so close to giving up his future for Lara that it wasn't hard to guess which way the wind was blowing. There was no way that he was going to give her up all of a sudden now that he had her so close.
But there was more to it than just that, as well. She'd left, and she'd left without a word to him. Without a message, without an explanation. Without anything. The way she kept talking, talking around whatever had made her leave in the first place, that was something that he needed to understand before he could even imagine the possibility of
some other future.
The one thing that he knew, deep down in his bones, was that he couldn't keep chasing both rabbits. The thought kept running through his head, in a loop. Any moment now, he was going to have some kind of breakthrough. He was going to remember the fight that he'd had with Lara, the one that made her so mad that she decided she never wanted to see him again.
He'd see some way out of this, or understand that he was really just being sour about politics for no reason. He'd decide that he wanted to be President after all, more than anything else. He'd decide that the entire damn political world hadn't corrupted him as sure as walking neck-deep through sludge.
But nothing moved and nothing budged, and he stood at the beginning again, and his thoughts just went through the same circle again.
He rubbed his eyes. The thoughts were getting him nowhere, but he had his answer, whether he liked it or not. He knew what he wanted, but it wasn't a real choice. He wasn't going to throw everything away on a leap of faith. He couldn't, not now. Not without knowing what the hell it was that had caused her to leave in the first place.
Once he understood why she was so angry at him, he could decide what he was supposed to do. But he wasn't going to put that on her. She'd tell him when she was ready, as long as she understood first that he didn't know what the hell it was he'd done in the first place.
If she didn't understand, then he wasn't going to blame her for that, but he sure as hell couldn't let things keep going the way they were, because something had to change. And as much as it made his chest hurt, if he couldn't have what he wanted, then he at least should know that sooner, rather than later.
Something that wasn't real and wouldn't last was fine, as long as he could pretend. She had come this far; whether or not she was going to let him continue wasn't certain, but he could at least hope.
He took a deep breath as the SUV pulled up in front of Mercy General. There were things that he needed to talk about, and he needed to do it sooner rather than later. He just hoped that he had the guts to do it this time.
