Vetting The Senator

by Alex Elliott

  “I’m on it. Won’t take but a few minutes.” The man’s eyes dart to me, then he nods, leaving the room.

  “If I may, Senator Stone?” Dr. Mazina, a Princeton professor smiles demurely, yet her gaze is laser-like in how she stares without blinking. She clicks on a screen and a presentation begins. The slide contains my name with a graph depicting voter concerns. I read the list and my brow tightens. An hour later, I feel like a pincushion as each person present discusses me like I’m a parody of myself.

  “So you see, Senator.” Virginia shifts in her seat, grinning again. “We’ve got a handle on you as my running mate. The party is behind us with a full endorsement. We’re prepared to make the announcement.”

  “Except you want me to...what?” I frown, and make zero attempt to disengage from glaring. This is precisely the side of politics I abhor. Blood-suckery!

  “Since we can’t expect you to get married in the next week, we need to establish you as a family presence. Someone everyone can trust.”

  “You act like I’ve recently robbed a bank.” I lean back in my chair, gripping the armrest, and am fully prepared to tell Virginia to can this idea.

  “In some ways, it’s actually worse.”

  “I don’t follow.” I clench my jaw, looking from her to the others seated at the table. What in the hell is she up to?

  “We need you to be more than Cosmo’s sexiest senator. Bennett, you need to come across as mainstream and that means grounded.” She raises her hand before I can reply. “Everyone...give us a moment.”

  Like magic, the other people in the room file out. When we’re alone, I meet her expectant stare. “What are you suggesting?” I ask.

  “When’s the last time you had a date? A real date. Or rather, a real girlfriend.”

  I exhale in frustration. I can’t recall the last time I ‘dated.’ Too long to remember the details other than it was a lie. Ryan is already aware of the truth about my lack of a girlfriend but she’s not nosing around for data. She’s looking for a story.

  “Years,” I finally say.

  Virginia rises from her chair and removes her glasses. She taps the side of her jaw with her frames and her smile goes wide. “Sometimes we need to spin media reporting to garner potential voter interest...and I’ve got a plan that’s viable. When I’m elected, I couldn’t care less if or who you date. You’re not celibate, and what you do behind closed doors is your business. No one can accuse you of having a mistress and if you did. So what!”

  I’m acutely aware of my options. The vice president’s got my arrest record and from my experience on the Hill with the Veep, she’s off-the-wall but has no problem playing hardball. I calculate how far-reaching the arrest report is—if it surfaces. It’ll cause a rash of shit, but nothing I can’t weather. Fuck, it’s a calculated risk to walk now. Yet it’s not the arrest report that’s got me sitting here, instead of telling the Veep to kiss off. Virginia Ryan has the tenacity of a pit bull. I can leave, but she’ll dig. And dig. With X in D.C. and my plans for us, it’s risky. Only for Xavia am I sitting here, plotting my next move.

  “So what’s your big idea?” I ask.

  A knock on the door prevents her from answering.

  “Madam Vice President, the preliminary report you requested.” Virginia’s staffer walks in with a manila folder and he gushes, “You were right.”

  “Confirmed?” She trains her gaze on me as the man exits. “Ben, just hear me out on shoring up your political persona. I had a thought. It’s a little out there.”

  “Exactly what are you referring to?”

  “Miss Kennedy. She’s your intern. Barely. Why not date her? Surely, you can appreciate the astronomical benefits.” Ryan asks point-blank.

  “Excuse me?” I stiffen in my chair.

  “She’s perfect. And if you agree, all you need to do is put a face on your single side. Not forever. One year and in return, we’ll owe Kennedy.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Do you have an aversion to her?”

  Between my teeth, I rasp, “Of course not.”

  “Senator...why not let Miss Kennedy decide?”

  My pulse rockets. I’m well aware that Xavia wants to be free of her family, specifically Grace and Stan Stillman who believe everyone has a price tag and can be bought. Christ, to have the vice president beholden to X. If I open this door to my soon-to-be submissive, I’m drawing her into a web that could blow up in our face...the face of the Veep...the trust of the American people.

  Unless I refrain from acting on my hunger to claim Xavia. Then she’d be perfect. My little innocent intern could bank powerful favors. She’d have her future set. Fuck! This has got to be X’s decision.

  “I’ll ask Ms. Kennedy, but you should know, she’s cut her ties with her family, and is sensitive to the issue.”

  Ryan chuckles. “You took her on knowing that?”

  “Yes, I did,” I say cautiously. “Look, Nora deals with the interns. It’s the summer and we’re short-staffed like everyone on the Hill. Ms. Kennedy applied and she’s got that fresh-energetic façade.”

  Virginia regards me with a raised brow. “Trust me, Senator, she’s got more than a façade going for her.”

  Chapter 3

  DEFINE REAL

  I HURRY back into the office with an armful of handouts for Bennett’s Monday Foreign Relations roundtable meeting with the South American and Caribbean dignitaries, and I wonder if Nora is still around.

  Several people in the corridor call my name. I wave. They’re on their way out. I turn and elbow someone. Shit!

  I hear, “Whoa. Slow down.”

  Looking up, I peer over my glasses at Oliver. He grimaces, holding his side. “Are you okay?” I squeak.

  He laughs, lowering his hand—clearly he’s fine and kidding. “How was your first day?”

  “Busy. But I’m getting the hang of things. Or at least the copier.” I glance at the stack in my arms.

  “Need help?” He holds out his hands.

  “Nope...well, maybe just the door.”

  “Stubborn.” He walks with me, opening the outer office door. “But, I am hearing good things about you.”

  “From who?” I laugh nervously.

  “Her for one.” He juts his chin toward Nora. “You all set for Monday?”

  “Yep. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  “Right. Then I’m outta here. Don’t forget, today’s happy hour!”

  “Definitely. You’re on,” I say and smile.

  He lifts his fist and I precariously shift the documents in my arms, and return a bump. Oliver waves to Nora before leaving, and I run through what I still need to get done.

  It took me twenty minutes to figure out the copier when it jammed, and then it was smooth sailing. It’s after five and today has been a whirlwind that didn’t stop. After my trip to the Veep’s residence, I now have access to the computer system. I attended a staff briefing that dissected Bennett’s agenda as well as his congressional priorities. Each day begins with a similar meeting, and next Wednesday, it’s my turn to bring in breakfast. From there, I reused the subway that connects this building to the other congressional hotspots, and shot over to the Senate ID office in Dirksen; stood in line for an hour, and have my official yet limited intern access badge.

  Nora looks up from her desk when I enter the reception area. “Let’s talk schedule. Got a sec?”

  “Sure,” I huff.

  Her fingers fly over her keyboard, and she clicks on Bennett’s calendar. It’s jam-packed. Zooming the box for Monday on her screen, she turns to me. “Monday morning, you’ll head downstairs into the amphitheater adjacent to the Caucus Room and help set up. There will be press coverage galore. The media camps out in designated seating. If any of them attempt to sneak closer, redirect them. They’re infamous for creeping toward the front. Oliver and his team will be there to deal with them since Myra’s not here, but if you see any of press push their luck, get tough.”

  “That I c
an do.” I pause in front of her. “I worked the other side of the press, and I’ll be on the lookout.”

  “Bennett takes the podium after the opening remarks, and it’s free fall from there. This isn’t like the campaign trail. Some of the attendees, a minority, can come across as vicious. Keep your eyes open and get a feel for the rhythm of how these roundtables roll.” She stops talking and I nod.

  I pat the handouts in my arms. “The packets are done. I’m ready.”

  She exhales and bites the side of her mouth, crossing her arms over chest. “Don’t get me wrong, but try to hold back from forming an opinion.”

  “How heated do the discussions get?” My shoes pinch my toes, but I stop thinking of my aching feet, waiting for her to explain.

  “Sometimes. Very.” She scours the ceiling for a prolonged moment, and I’m unsure what she’s referring to. She trains her focus back to me and her expression hardens. “These political roundtables, when they’re open to the press and deal with the economy and our foreign policy, can get heated. A regular political dogfight, and congressional members present are here to posture for their supporters. Don’t take what’s traded as absolute. You’ll see all sorts of warring, and sometimes Congress can come across as cutthroat. But the next day dawns, and those same people are playing tennis or attending a birthday bash.”

  “You mean, this is politics.” I smirk. “Trust me. I’ve got plenty of experience with people who say one thing and mean another. Give good face.”

  “I bet you do!” Her mouth hangs opens, and her eyes go wide. “I mean, you come from powerful people. And of course, you’re sophisticated.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s putting it mildly and you’re right. My family is a small version of political jockeying gone south. Or maybe sour. Whichever—I’m not naïve, and thanks for the heads-up.” We both laugh.

  “Okay,” Nora reaches for her purse. “It’s Friday and five. Time to go. We’re all meeting up at Rafferty’s. Get your stuff and let’s get out of here.”

  “Catch up with you there. I just want to stow these, and organize my desk. It looks like a hurricane blew through the office I’m occupying.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she assures me, then shakes her head. “I can tell you will. Do you know where the bar is?”

  “Dupont Circle. All set. I received a slew of texts during the day.” My phone constantly goes off with everything from updates on committee actions to surveys on bagel and donut choices for Monday’s staff briefing. I watch as Nora slips on sunglasses.

  “You did fine today. In case I miss you, enjoy the weekend. You’ve got my number if you have a question that can’t wait until Monday.”

  “Go. I’m right behind you,” I scoot away from her, grinning. Once inside my temporary office, I set the stack down, and there goes my phone. Pulling it out, I glance at the screen and it’s a selfie from Jon and a text asking me, “How was your first day?”

  I remove my glasses and shoot him back one of me with a message. “Out of this world!”

  “What’s so funny?” Bennett fills the doorway. Our eyes meet and my craving for him ignites. Out of hiding tumbles my yearning to close the distance between us.

  “Hey,” I whisper. “Just a text. From Jon.”

  Suddenly, the walls, desk, piles of folders...everything between us disappears as he leans against the doorframe, observing me with the same intensity that he delivered the first time I noticed him across the dance floor in a New York club. I swallow, reminding myself to reconnect my brain.

  “Oh, so are you two hooking up later?” His eyes darken as he gazes at me.

  “No. We went out to dinner...last night.” This feels so awkward. We can’t touch and talking with feet of floor space separating us makes me highly aware of everything I want to say...but can’t.

  “We need to discuss a situation that’s come up. Now, if possible. Do you have some time?” he asks.

  “Sure. What about?” I dial a few strands of hair behind my ear, hoping the heatwave creeping up my neck simmers down.

  He lifts off the doorframe, and shifts his gaze away from my face, toward to the carpet. Bennett tunnels his fingers through his hair, then resumes his high-powered perusal of me. Without Nora around, he doesn’t temper his visual consumption of me, and I feel my whole body catch fire.

  “Come to my office,” he directs me, loosening his tie and the top button of his shirt, yet all the while he’s laser focused on me.

  “Do I need to take notes?”

  “This won’t take that long,” he murmurs, gesturing toward his office.

  I cross to the doorway and can’t hide the shiver of excitement that runs a wild path up my spine. As I pass by Bennett, I’m struck by his demeanor though intense, clearly he’s troubled. “What’s wrong?” My stomach knots, and I pause, refusing to break our stare. We’re closer than we’ve been in a day but not close enough.

  “I have a pressing offer to discuss. This might be an opportunity for you.” The corners of lips curl slightly as he regards me. “Care for a drink?”

  “Opportunity?” What’s he talking about?

  He presses his fingers along my shoulders, then lower. If I turn, I’ll be flush with him and then what? If the outer door to the office suite opens, here we are...a few yards away, and a hard to miss image.

  “We’ll talk in my office.”

  I acquiesce to him, guiding me toward his doorway, but not before my name is a soft whisper on his lips. “Xavia, fuck.”

  My heart clambers, and I turn the doorknob to his office without waiting for him to usher me inside. This is the first time I’m stepping into his office... “Wow, what a view,” I blurt out, taking in the street scene of Constitution Avenue and beyond to the Capitol.

  The scene is amazing and I’m held enthralled by the postcard vista, until he shuts the door behind us. I feel a surge of heat and hunger roll off his body and saturate my skin. A moan floats up my throat before he touches me, and when he does—takes hold of me—I’m ready for anything and everything. A taste... a tease of his mouth, or the full hair-pulling, ass-slapping fierce fuck he’s shown me.

  At first, his touch is firm, and grows more insistent as he pulls me to him with one of his large hands, gripping my hip. He cinches our body together and I’m spiraling in need of him.

  “Baby,” he groans against the back of my head.

  “Bennett, I want you.” My eyes drift closed, relishing the erotic sensuality this man crafts in me each time his fingers find me.

  His arm snakes around my waist and he gathers my hair, twisting the strands within his other fist. I’m imprisoned, groaning and giddy with anticipation. He presses wet kisses into the skin at my neck, then sucks a path upward as one of his hands sweeps over my ribcage. He captures my breast, simultaneously yanks my hair as I melt inside.

  I’m so there, so ready for his flavor of harsh savage sex. “More,” I moan.

  “Don’t take this off, or I swear there will be hell to pay.” He pulls on the chain that delivers a slice of pain to my nipples.

  “Let’s start now,” I suggest and his fingers curl, squeeze, and roughly knead my tits as he sucks on my skin. Bites me hard.

  “You’re so fucking filthy. Aren’t you?” He pinches my nipples, pressing my breasts together with a deep laugh. “You want my cock pounding into you.”

  To answer him, I reach under his jacket, encounter his belt, then glide my fingers down the outline of his shaft, and squeeze him just as rough.

  He stops sucking on my neck and hisses out my name, “Xavia. Beg me with that dirty little mouth of yours.”

  “I need you,” I whimper. A hot flush courses over my skin. I can’t take much more unless it involves his cock pounding into me.

  His fingers snap my hair. “Beg me for it.”

  My body quivers at the sound of his harsh tone and him demanding that I beg him. This isn’t a hotel room in Boston where he’s made me beg—loudly. We’re in his office. “You can’t
be serious,” I huff out.

  A low caress of a laugh rumbles from his throat as he grips my hair at the roots, jerking my head back against his shoulder. All my muscles grow taut, my lust hikes up, and I crave the brutality he offers.

  He grazes his jaw against my cheek, his stubble sears my nerve endings as his lips skim the shell of my ear. “Didn’t I say ‘beg me’?”

  A pulsing flare of anger deep inside my core combusts. “Please fuck me, sir.”

  “Louder, X. This room is sound proof.”

  “Please, fuck me. Sir!” I thunder.

  “You need to be fucked, but you also need to remember who runs this show.” He lets go of my hair and spins me around. Our gazes collide. Lock. “When I tell you to beg me, you’d fucking better follow the direction the first time. As of right now, you haven’t earned my cock.”

  “No. No. NO!” I shout. He’s right. I’m on the edge and hungry for him.

  “That’s enough,” he whispers a warning, arching his brow.

  I swallow as he palms both of my breasts, strumming his thumbs across my nipples that pebble, ache for his mouth. “Please.”

  “You’re wild and undisciplined.”

  “I’m tortured and teased!”

  “Christ, do you remember anything from Boston?”

  “Lots. That’s the problem.”

  “Kiss me like I’ve taught you,” he orders and when I do, he twists the chain between my nipple clamps. I bite down on his lip, and he yanks the chain, devouring the cry of pain I release. Jittery and aching for more of him, I grip his cock, craving his mouth and teeth on my body as he fucks me so brutal—so complete I splinter apart.

  He pulls away from my mouth. “Soon I’m going to own you. Teach you. Tame you. You have no idea what it means to be fully mine.”

  “Sir, why don’t you show me?” I whisper suggestively across his lips, tracing the tips of my fingernails over his dick, straining the confines of his trousers.

  “Don’t challenge me, X. I’m so close to fucking your perfect mouth. So fucking close!” He curls his hand over mine and rubs his hard-on up and down my palm. Oh yeah, he’s giving me the details all right on how hungry he is—but he’s also holding back.