by Mara Jacobs
“We have to win this election first, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Grayson said, sensing my growing agitation.
Yeah, I was starting to freak out.
I kind of liked the idea of the strategizing and the power plays, and the guessing what image people would respond to. But from the table, behind the scenes.
I had a flash of me in the future on the steps of the Capitol in DC (was that even where they swore in the president?) standing next to Betsy and Joey as my father was sworn in.
It was not an image that made me feel good.
“Okay, right. Let’s keep it in perspective,” I said. I rubbed my hands on my pants, finding them a bit sweaty. Stick placed his hand on mine, flat against my thigh. Much as I loved the contact, I pulled my hand away and put it on the table, taking up my pen.
Just as there was no room for sweet at the table, there was also no room for comfort.
“Caro and I will do the interview together. Appear together when needed.”
They were nodding, making notes. “We’ll play up the ‘family comes in all shapes and sizes angle’ and appeal to all those coming from nontraditional families,” Grayson said. “I’ll have Elliot pull the numbers on that. How many families in Maryland are nontraditional.”
“Have him pull current divorce and infidelity rates in both Maryland and the US while he’s at it,” Caro added, and Joe nodded, typing into his laptop. “It would be good to have those numbers.” She looked up, as if off into space. “You see, we’re just like X percent of the people in Maryland—we’ve made mistakes, moved on, and are doing our best for our families.” It was said in a dreamy voice, and I realized she was doing a practiced answer for a possible interview question.
“Yes. Exactly,” Joe said, beaming at his ex-wife.
“It was always more of a political partnership than anything else. I don’t know why I was such the bad guy for just bringing a little love into the man’s life,” my mother had said countless times.
She was right: Joe and Caro made great partners. But there was something in my father’s eyes when he looked at Caro that I’d never seen with anyone else.
“And our family has grown and bonded over Caro’s latest battle for her life. It has really brought home to us the importance of acceptance,” Joe said in his politician’s voice, answering the same nonexistent reporter that Caro had.
He kind of shook himself out of it, and they smiled at each other.
I was both fascinated and appalled. And so, so on the verge of losing it, thinking that this was my future, and half my gene pool.
The good half!
“I can’t thank you enough for bringing Jane out here…Stick, is it?” my father said to Stick. “Getting her to bond with Caro is going to make this so much easier. It’s going to look so authentic.”
My body jerked. Grayson looked at Joe like he was an idiot. Caro laid her hand on mine and said, “That’s because it is…authentic.”
I slid my hand from underneath her cool one and looked at Stick. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What?” he said. His eyes were pinballing around from person to person, not getting that they’d totally outed him as part of some undercover assignment.
To use me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You know, I thought I had my eyes wide open. I thought I knew exactly what to expect with those vipers in there,” I said, pointing back to the dining room as I walked through the house, toward the kitchen.
All I really wanted to do was leave, but I’d wanted away from the table so badly that I’d left my stuff in the dining room and had turned toward the kitchen instead of the front door.
“I even knew Caro was capable of…befriending me for the greater good.” I was in the kitchen now, the scene of all those afternoons of sharing tea with Caro. Of laughing with her over memories of her kids and my father—memories I had no right to, but wanted desperately to hear.
Desperate. The word I most conjured up when thinking of my mother.
And that thought—that I was my mother’s daughter after all—sent me into a near rage. Which I directed at Stick.
I whirled on him, and he nearly ran into me. “And you,” I said, sticking my finger into his chest. “How dare you sell me out.”
I went to push at him again, but he grabbed my arm. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I don’t know what any of you are talking about.”
I wrenched my arm free, wanting to jab at him again, but also wanting to be away from this place. Away from that room of political scheming, where you never knew what was sincere and what was just positioning.
“God!” I turned and walked away from Stick—further from the dining room. I looked outside to the estate grounds. What snow had fallen had now melted, and though you couldn’t really call the landscape green, it was promising to be so very soon.
I went to the French doors and walked outside, the breeze cool, but not as bracing as it had been just weeks ago when I’d started coming here with Stick.
Which, apparently, was all part of some master plan.
“Unbelievable,” I said as I walked across the grounds, not really caring where I went. The ground was hard in places and soft in others, the thawing process beginning.
“What is your deal?” Stick said as he caught up to me. He took hold of my elbow and steered me to the guesthouse where he sometimes stayed.
I tried to shake him off, but his grip tightened. Not so that it hurt, but I knew I wasn’t going to be free of him.
That thought made a bark of laughter rise from me, and he looked over. “Jane? What the hell?”
We reached the guesthouse, and he opened the door and gently pushed me inside. I heard him close and lock the door behind him. “Okay,” he said from behind me. “Now. What the fuck?”
I turned on him. “Are you serious? What the fuck? They totally ratted you out in there. And you’re surprised that I’m pissed?”
“What? What your dad said? That I brought you here to bond with Caro so you’d be more…amenable?”
I scoffed at his nonchalant questioning of what I took as a very large betrayal. “Umm…yeah.” My voice sounded shrill to my ears, and I realized with a blinding flash of clarity that I sounded just like my mother did when she’d yell at my father that she wanted her own Dotty.
And that realization sent me over the edge. “How dare you manipulate me like that. Don’t you think there are enough strings being pulled around here—and for all of my fucking life, thank you very much. It would be nice to have something—someone—that wasn’t knee deep in their shit.”
He came toward me, and I backed away. I vaguely noticed the living area of the small guesthouse on one side, and a bed on the other. For all the afternoons I’d spent at Caro’s house, I’d never been in here. Only the main house and the garage. There was a door behind me that must lead to the bathroom. And a small kitchen area off the living room. Small and tasteful, except for the jeans lying on the floor next to the bed, and the sweat socks piled to one side of the bedside table. The only clue that Stick had invaded this private sanctuary.
He was still following me, stalking me, and my back hit the far wall.
“You honestly believed that shit your father was spewing?”
“Yes,” I said. I put my hand out to stop Stick from coming closer. He snorted disdain at the movement, took my hand and raised it over my head, pinning it against the wall.
“No you don’t. You did notice that it was your father who said that, right? Not Caro or Grayson? And you get that your dad is, shall we say, not the mastermind of the group.”
“All the more reason that he’d be the one to slip up and let the cat out of the bag.” I knew what would happen if I reached out my other hand. He would pin that one too. And that was what I wanted. I wanted to provoke Stick. I wanted to lose control. I wanted to feel his hands on mine as they held me to the wall.
I raised my hand and pushed at his chest. We both knew it was halfh
earted, but he didn’t scoff this time as he grabbed my wrist and brought it up to meet my other one, holding both in one strong hand.
“He didn’t slip up. There was nothing to slip. He made the wrong conclusion.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said.
He stepped into me, pinning me with his body as tightly as he did with my hands. “Yes you do,” he whispered. He dropped his head and nuzzled my neck, his tongue making a quick graze across my jawbone. “I don’t know if Caro played you, though I’d like to think she didn’t.” He kissed his way up my neck. I arched back, giving access, wanting more. “But I wasn’t a part of any master plan. Not one that included you. I wouldn’t do that.”
He kissed me, and I devoured his mouth, as if I could believe his words more if I tasted from where they’d come.
Peppermint, always peppermint. I got so aroused from the scent of stupid peppermint these days.
He broke the kiss, resting his forehead on mine. “You believe me, Jane.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m just trying to find one decent human being in my life, you know? One…good guy in this whole mess. Of either gender. A white hat out there in the sea of black ones,” I said softly.
“You have,” he said, leaning back so he could meet my eyes. “I never proclaimed to be a white hat. But in this”—he pressed his body into mine—“with us”—he tilted into me, letting his erection rock into me—“I’m a good guy. Your good guy. Or, at least, I want to be.”
“Stick,” I whispered, the futility of the situation—our situation—coming through in my voice.
He bristled, and I could tell I’d hurt him like I had that very first day he’d brought me Yvette. So long ago now, and yet had anything really changed?
How many times had I kissed that mouth? Tasted peppermint as our tongues swirled and danced? And every time I swore it would be the last.
But not today. Today I needed more. I needed all of Stick.
I pushed my body into his, blocking out the knowledge that there couldn’t be more between us. “Do it.”
He stared me down. “Do what?” He knew exactly what I meant. What I needed.
“Do it,” I said again. He gave a small shake of the head. I pushed my hips deeper into him, pressed my boobs out. “Take me.”
“Against a wall?”
“Seems as good a place as any,” I said. His eyes were on my chest, which was moving up and down as the whole scene got me more and more excited.
“You want our first time to be up against a wall? When there’s a perfectly good bed five feet away.” His free hand skimmed up my body, from my waist to the side of my breast then back down and around. He slid it around and grabbed my ass, pulling me even closer into him. I mentally cursed the jeans and layers of tops that kept him from my bare skin.
“You don’t get it,” I said.
His eyes narrowed on mine. “What don’t I get?” He rocked into me again, and I couldn’t help but let out a tiny gasp. Much as we’d kissed in the past weeks, Yvette had always been chaperone against any kind of grinding action. And man, it felt good to be grinding against Stick.
“That this isn’t our first time. It’s our only time.”
“Oh, Jane, you are so wrong about that.” His hand dropped from mine and both of his palms bracketed my face, his fingers resting on my cheekbones, as he kissed me again. Harder and deeper than before. He tasted so fresh and clean. But it wasn’t enough, not today, when I felt so raw, so vulnerable.
Shit, I hated being vulnerable.
I sucked on his tongue as I started clawing at his hoodie, needing it off him. Needing to see the shoulders and chest that I’d only been able to feel through cotton and coats. Sensing my urgency, he followed suit, his hands leaving my face and going to the hem of my tunic, pulling it up my body.
We had to stop kissing to remove his hoodie and my gauzy tunic. Then his long-sleeved tee and my knit henley. Finally his chest was bare, and I ran my hands down the smooth, lean, taut muscles. Until he jerked my arms up to get my tank top off me.
“Enough tops, much?” he said. I was about to throw a zinger back at him, but I was entranced by his chest and shoulders, all lean muscle and lankiness. I’d assumed he’d have tattoos, but his skin was ink-free. And a hairless chest, too, so smooth to my touch. Just a sprinkling of hair at his navel, running down past the waistband of his jeans.
My hand slid down, down, reaching for his zipper, when he put a hand at the base of my throat and gently held me against the wall. I looked up at him, but his gaze was about a foot lower than my eyes.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered as he stared at my chest. My—yes, I hated to admit it—heaving-with-excitement chest. “I thought you might be hiding something spectacular under all those funky tops. But God, Jane, it should be illegal to hide that. You’re…”
“Huge?” I said.
His hands were on my breasts, pushing them up, as if taking in their weight. I had on a black bra, just a plain cotton one. The white of my skin spilled over the cups normally, and even more so as Stick molded and shaped me. Finally he moved the cups underneath each breast, lifting them up even more.
“Well, yeah, huge. But so much more than that.” He bent down and took a nipple in his mouth and began sucking. My head dropped back against the wall; the sensation was so intense I wasn’t sure I could keep my neck straight. “So pretty,” he murmured as he moved to the other side and continued. He licked the nipple first, watching it pebble and harden, then finally took it in his mouth.
I ran my hands up his shoulders, across his neck, and held him to me, not wanting the sensation of what he was doing to me to ever end. I planted my fingers in his hair, weaving through the thick mass of waves.
I would have been happy to hold him to me like that all night, but soon he kissed his way down my stomach and dropped to his knees. “Lean back,” he said, and I put my back to the wall, easing my bottom away from it, creating a bit of an angle. “Raise your hands,” he said, his voice rough with arousal. Which was okay, because I was fairly certain I couldn’t even speak right then.
I lifted my hands over my head, stretching them, loving how my breasts rose with me, the cups of my bra still underneath, as if framing them. Stick watched my every movement, his eyes following the rise and fall as his fingers undid my jeans’ button and then fly. He slid the denim over my hips (not a small task) and down my legs. One leg at a time, I stepped out of them, and he tossed them aside.
“Take your bra off,” he told me as he moved to rid me of my panties.
Not quite believing that I kind of liked him telling me what to do, I again followed his orders, and soon my bra and panties joined my other clothes on the floor. He hooked a hand under my left knee and lifted it up. Running a palm along my outer thigh, he placed my leg over his shoulder, then moved closer to me. He kissed around me. On my stomach, hips, thighs—everywhere but where I wanted his mouth most.
Needed his mouth most.
He looked up at me then and grinned, knowing he had me right where he wanted me. “Oh, just do it already,” I said. He laughed, his breath still leaving him as his mouth settled right on the core of me.
My head dropped back and his mouth left my body. “Unh-uh. Watch me.” When my head came back and I looked down at him, he gave a nod and tasted me again.
Oh, what a talented tongue Stick Whatever had. I knew it could tangle with me both figuratively and literally, but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.
He licked and sucked and a finger, then two, joined in with his lips and tongue. When I didn’t think I could stand it, my head would start to drop and he’d stop, causing me to quickly get back in line and watch what he was doing to my body.
“Come for me, Jane,” he said, and like all his other commands, I obeyed. Shattering. Just…shattering. My hands had to have been hurting his head; I was pulling and twisting his hair as my peak just kept climbing and climbing. My body convulsed as he continued, not allowing me to come back
down until he was ready.
And he wasn’t ready for a long time.
When he was, he quickly got to his feet and walked the few steps to the bedside table, where he opened the drawer and pulled out a condom. He tore open the package and handed it to me, while his hands went back to my breasts, playing and twisting the nipples. It made it very hard for me to concentrate long enough to get his jeans undone, pushed down, along with his boxers, below his ass, give a few quick strokes of his hard cock and roll the condom on.
I didn’t even bother pushing his jeans all the way down, and he didn’t seem to want to take the time either. As soon as the condom was on, he lifted my leg again, positioned himself at my entrance and pushed deep inside me.
I wasn’t sure if his groan or mine was louder. He stretched me and filled me, and at first it felt like too much. And then it felt…right. Not a word I conjured up when thinking about Stick and me together. But yeah, it was right. We…fit.
He leaned into me, then picked up my other leg, both off the ground now, my back at an angle against the wall, his body leveraging mine. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and hung on. I was splayed open, totally trusting in Stick to hold me up. To take care of me. It was an odd sensation, but as his movements inside me picked up pace, I relaxed and caught his rhythm.
He sensed it right away. Of course he did. I both hated and loved that. “That’s it,” he said in my ear, his face against mine, our deep breaths matched. “Open that awesome body to me, Jane. Let me all the way in.”
I shifted a tiny bit in his arms, and we both sighed at the exquisite slide that brought him even closer, deeper.
“Yes,” I said, not able to help myself. “Yes, right there.” He knew he’d found the spot, and picked up his pace, his fingers pressing into the backs of my thighs as he drove harder into me, slamming me against the wall with each stroke.
Just before his release, he bit my earlobe, and that, coupled with his hard strokes, sent me over the edge again. My whole body shuddered, and I felt the spasms rocket through his body as I held on to him.
