Vetting The Senator

by Alex Elliott

  I squeeze my fingers over him, stroking him harder, but it’s not enough to push him into action and supply me with a hit of the hedonistic pain mixed with pleasure he’s taught me to crave, and I snarl in frustration, “Please, this isn’t another lesson is it?”

  “What exactly do you need, little girl?” His words tingle over my skin as he recaptures my breasts.

  “You. Sucking on my nipples until I’m half crazy, raking my nails down your back.”

  “Wrong. That’s not what you need. You need discipline. I promise, I’ll give you what want, but you’ll wait until we talk. Is that clear?” His warm breath sails across my skin, catching on the kiss imprints he’s left along my neck.

  “No. I need you. Now!” I’m unraveling from the sensation overload of us together—but still apart. His touch, his kiss, his body tempt me beyond my endurance, and I tremble uncontrollably.

  Why doesn’t he understand how he’s got me past the point of sane ideas? My body is a quivering mess. I could be riding him right now. My body owned. Him pounding between my legs—that’s where he should be. Severe and slamming.

  A muscle twitches along his jaw. “X, we’ve got to discuss something that’s come up. I’m not going to fuck you until you’ve made your decision.”

  Staring up at him, I’m taken aback by his solemn expression. I struggle to speak coherently. “Sounds serious.”

  “It is.” He releases his hold on me. “You need to hear me out. Over on that sofa. You’ll sit down with me and listen without losing your cool.”

  From the light streaming in from the windows, his pupils appear as massive dark pools. I relay the cloud of worry overshadowing my thoughts, “If this is an I’m sorry this didn’t work out type of conversation, I’d rather stand.”

  “That depends on you. You might be saying those words to me after you hear what I have to share.”

  “Not gonna happen, sir.”

  “You’re incorrigible for someone who can’t properly beg worth a shit, and needs sub training to the max.” He leans forward and slides his mouth across mine.

  I don’t care about us talking. The only thing I want to share is our bodies. I open my lips, eager to welcome his warm, wet tongue inside my mouth. Instead of slow and steady, he backs me up, pushes me against the door to his office. This isn’t a sweet kiss, but a fevered exploration both of us dive into. Our tongues dance, tangle without pretense, and I bite his lip, craving indescribable things from him. I rub my hands over his jacket, taking hold of his lapels, hold on tight to keep us together.

  When he lifts his head, I’m practically panting, ready to shed my clothes on the word ‘go.’ “I want you, not a proposition,” I say, reaching for him.

  He curls his fingers around my wrist and squeezes. “First, you need to hear the message I promised to deliver. To you. Let’s have a drink and deal with this situation.” His tone is severe. His gaze unwavering. The muscle clicking along his jaw has me clenching mine. Whatever he’s about to deliver—it’s weighty.

  “Fine. It’s definitely five o’clock here and Friday. Let’s christen your office.”

  “Jesus. That sounds like a fine way to begin the weekend.” He laughs, but that sound of his voice rings hollow.

  His laughter isn’t reflected in his eyes where—for a second—a slice of pain glints within his gaze. We stare, unblinking across at each other, and the force he exudes unleashes a twinge deep into my chest.

  “I didn’t mean...” Okay, that’s a big whopper. I’m totally down for ‘christening’ his office with hair-pulling sex. But there’s this unshuttered expression, flickering over his face. The same one he trained on me in Boston. Pain mingled with something dark. Now, it’s related to something involving me. The twinge in my chest twists. I put aside everything I feel. Steel my emotions. What can I do to ease the haunting darkness that resonates within him? “Bennett, is everything all right?”

  “Stellar. Don’t let your imagination get the better of you.” He kisses the tip of my nose and uncurls his hold on my arm. The spot on my skin where he just touched tingles. I accompany him to his desk and he opens a drawer, producing a bottle of Macallan. On a side table, there are glasses, and he pours a liberal shot of whiskey into a pair. He puts one into my hand and takes the other. “To carefully crafted decisions.”

  “Oh really,” I say hoarsely, clinking his glass. “Is this a new trend?”

  “Touché,” he replies and lifts his glass, training his attention over the rim at me.

  I take a sip, it’s good, and I down the whole shot. The scotch slides like velvet over my tongue until the liquor hits the back of my throat; then a line of fire flash burns from my tongue to my belly. My stomach is empty and the liquor lands like a load of TNT with a serious kick.

  “Whoa,” I choke, slamming my glass down.

  The effect of the shot rebounds from my belly, straight to my head. I hold on to the table as I look up, and see him staring at me. He tosses his drink back, then sets his glass next to mine. Silently he bends forward and kisses me, tenderly sucking on my bottom lip. The feeling is exquisite, and I moan his name.

  “You can’t imagine how many times today, I’ve thought about your kissing and fucking your smart-aleck mouth,” he whispers. His words caress my skin, slip inside me, and weave tendrils of tenderness within the buzz from my drink.

  * * *

  I DOWN my drink and pilot Xavia to my sofa, my muscles grow as rigid as my dick when she sinks onto the leather. I envision spreading her legs and thrusting into her until both of us are spent. For her sake, I hold back.

  “As you know I met with the vice president.” I lower close to her, carefully choosing my next words, and take one of her hands. “I’ve decided to accept her offer.”

  “Oh God. This is the moment most people would be jumping up and down for you. Why do I feel a sense of dread?”

  “I believe the saying is don’t put the cart before the horse. There’s an issue. It’s not as easy as me agreeing.”

  “Please, don’t drag this out. Just tell me whatever it is you’re thinking!”

  I want to tell her nothing. What the fuck was I thinking? That being honest was a good idea. If she decides that tomorrow night at the House is a no-go... I’ll lose my shit. I can’t work with her and not have access to her body—in the way I need her. I’ve been holding on since Boston, with one target. Getting her to the club and claiming her. Each step closer, it’s as though a door inside my brain clicks open.

  No way can I pretend to be dating this girl in any normal sense. I’ve got to have her bound, begging, and open to me. Since the moment we met, I’ve been spinning on a course and the end point is within my grasp. Having Xavia spread-eagle as I take my time with her is a chant in my head, liquid fire coursing through my body. We’ll have the Secret Service, my idiot neighbors, and the media shadowing us if we go through with the Veep’s plan and ‘date’ aka engage in a regular romance and vanilla fucking.

  That insane idea will never fly if it means X naked on my bed in my condo. We need a place that won’t cause a commotion in how hard, loud, or rough we go at each other. I scrub my hand down the side of my cheek. “Ryan’s PR team believes I need to fit into a cubicle and that includes a...” I stall, searching for the right word.

  “What does her PR team suggest?”

  “A girlfriend,” I say and watch X’s eyes widen to the size of plates.

  “A what?” she stutters out.

  Between my gritted teeth, I whisper the lunacy I vowed to share, “They’ve found a girlfriend for me.”

  “And you agreed?”

  “No! That’s why we’re talking—” Before I can finish, she’s up and off the sofa. Her face is a shade of glowing pissed-off, and her eyes are blue fire as she stares down at me. But instead of saying anything, she spins on her heel, and begins to race toward the door.

  “X. Stop.” I bolt off the sofa and it’s three strides across the room before I catch up to her. Before she can
run out the door, I tell her again, “For fuck’s sake. Stop!”

  “Fuck. Off. Senator,” she snarls without stopping.

  One message blares through my brain: That girl isn’t going to leave. After everything that's gone down today, I’m so close to pulling her back to the sofa, stripping her ass bare, and laying her over my lap. At the doorway, she goes to grab the knob, but I plant my hands on the door, caging her between my arms. “Aren’t you going to ask who the Veep’s PR team has come up with as my love interest?”

  “I don’t want to know,” she spits out. “Reason number six hundred and sixty-six why an intern shouldn’t fuck her boss!”

  She’s shaking and I lower my hands to her shoulders, then lower my fingers down her arms. I capture her wrist, and pull her fingers from the doorknob.

  “Yes. You do.” I turn her around and tilt my head, watching her as she bites her lip. God, I want to undress her, and spend the next ten hours exploring her body. Fuck, how does she do this to me? Lifting her hands, I kiss her palms but she refuses to meet my gaze. “Baby, look at me.”

  “No.” She shakes her head stubbornly, and I inhale, fighting to give her time. Her fragrance infuses the air between us and my cock throbs for relief. Sweet Jesus, I need to get inside her...all the way.

  “It’s you,” I say, moving my hand to her cheek and tipping up her chin. “You.”

  Her eyes are liquid aquamarine gems, and she’s blinking her eyelashes as a tear spills onto her cheek. She’s not wearing her glasses and I trace the path of the tear, anxious to hear what’s running through her mind. I’m giving her a moment to digest the news. Hell, the idea of us dating took me by surprise and is still running rampant in my mind.

  “I’m supposed to be your girlfriend? What does the VP think... I’m ready and waiting in the wings? How does she even know I exist?”

  “When I arrived there today, she had her PR team on full alert. I believe this idea of Virginia’s wasn’t solid...until you walked into the room. The Veep’s a hawk—sees everything. Her specialty is synthesizing concepts off-the-cuff. Hell, off the fucking wall.”

  “What did I do that impressed her to the point of suggesting something this crazy?”

  “Truthfully, I believe it was your ID.”

  She looks down as she touches her badge, and when she gazes up at me again, she shakes her head. “My last name is of no interest to her. She’s mistaken if she believes I come with political ties. You know I don’t. Christ, I’m on the outs with my grandparents after our conversation last week. And it won’t stop there. The Kennedys and Stillmans stick together. They’ve been around since prohibition, covering each other’s back. You can’t imagine what it’s like or how far they’re willing to go!”

  “I can,” I say quietly.

  She shakes her head. “I doubt that.”

  I grip her arms tighter. Can I trust her?

  “We’re both islands. Cutting ourselves off from our families. Mine have been around forever. Before the Civil War and they’re still ruling over parts of Georgia. Living in the same microcosm. Old timers with their KKK shit.” The world around us fades. I flick my thumb across her skin in a slow circle as I say, “You’ve seen my scars. I told you, they’re from a hunting accident with my uncle.”

  “Yes.” She blinks.

  Fuck. Should I let her in? More than I’ve already done. I inhale a lungful of air. “It was more than a hunting accident. My uncle... my father’s brother abducted me when I was four. He took me to a cabin. He was a junkie—blitzed. I was there for a couple of weeks in December. He did stuff...” I close my eyes, clenching my jaw. My whole body turns cold. My heart pounds. Pounds so hard and fast, as gut-wrenching images fill my head—fuck! I slam the door shut on the past and hoarsely whisper, “The reason for the scars.”

  When I look down at her, she’s got this expression like she just witnessed a car crash. “Oh my God!”

  “I was rescued. But it’s taken a toll in how I relate to people. Especially to women,” I say.

  She touches my face. “You’re perfect...to me.”

  For seconds, we simply hold each other’s stare. The pain in X’s crystal blues eyes splits me open. Flaring sadistic images of belt buckles, blood, and a knife slicing my skin flood my head. Her vulnerability, a silky softness, is a destination I jettison toward like a moth to a seductive flame. It’s a trap. My weakness. What I desire to possess. I close my eyes. Force the blackness to wipe out the memories. I can’t tell her the whole truth. It was my mother’s side of the family who came—from the shadows and found my uncle’s hideout. No one beyond my immediate family knows I was abducted. Only one other person knows the whole story of how my uncle was brutally slain. No one I’ve fucked knows the secret I carry, until now.

  “We’re both on the outs where our families are concerned. Trust me, I get how screwed up families can be,” I tell her.

  She nods, sliding her hand down my chest. “What’s next?”

  Before we left Boston, Xavia contacted her grandparents by phone. I have no idea what she said or their reaction, but from her pink cheeks, I imagine whatever she’d said—it was a long time in coming. I get that everyone is enthralled by her family, but for me, less is more. What I desire with her would be easier if neither of us had any connections to the limelight. Each person or association is one more tripwire we have to deal with. If she could cut her family ties like I have, fuck, I wouldn’t complain.

  “I told Ryan I didn’t think us dating was a good idea, but she brought up the point that it wasn’t my decision. Entirely.”

  “Yes. It is. You can say ‘no’ and decline for both of us.”

  “Sure I can and I won’t be running for vice president.”

  “So this is on me? Whether you run or not.”

  “I’m not going to pretend to date another woman. You’re the only one I want, and this way we’ll have safeguards in place.”

  “We’ll have the world watching us.”

  “The Secret Service doesn’t dick around. If it matters, and here’s a point that might interest you...considering your recent quest for independence from your family.” I stare down at her, gauging how to pave the path that could lead directly into the bowels of hell. “Virginia Ryan considers this a personal favor you’d be doing her. And she wants me to relay she’d owe you.”

  “The vice president said that?” One of Xavia’s brows lifts in question.

  “Yes. She’d like to have lunch on Sunday to discuss how this will unfold.” I resume my hold on X’s arms, sliding my hands to her wrists. Delicate. Mine to possess.

  “What about tomorrow night?”

  I gaze into this girl’s eyes that reach into me...deep. I lift her wrists above her head. “That decision is yours.”

  “Can we do both?” Her voice comes out breathy. The question...seductive.

  We stare at one another for a beat. “Are you willing to be my submissive and pretend to be my girlfriend?”

  “Define pretend?” Her eyes glimmer dangerously, catering to my need to own her completely.

  She’s got to know how insanely attracted I am to her. In case she doesn’t, I press my hardened cock into her belly, and growl, “Not. Real.”

  “Does ‘not real’ involve sex at your club?” She rolls her lip between her teeth.

  I laugh. Holy fuck. “That’s burning the candle at both ends and the middle. Do you understand how risky it would be?”

  “Why? We’re adults.”

  “Baby, the people you’ll see tomorrow night are all adults and all of them demand their private lives remain hidden. You can’t talk. Not even if the FBI pulls you in for questioning. No one can know it’s you. That means you’ll have to be incognito at the club. You willing to do that ‘cause you can’t have it both ways? One slip and we’re fucked.”

  With a gasp, she gapes up at me. “What about you? Don’t people know your identity?”

  “That’s part of our dilemma. But I’m armed with enough info on eve
ry member to equalize the risk for me.” When her gaze lowers, my muscles tense. I bend forward while hoisting her hands higher. Her breath catches as her tits lift. “I want your eyes on me. At all times.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “A little practice session to get you prepped for tomorrow.”

  “My rear end is still sore,” she hisses.

  “Marked by my hand,” I whisper against her mouth. “I barely sampled you.”

  “You’re teasing me.”

  “You’re wrong.” I crash my mouth down on hers, shifting both of her hands to one of my own. Fisting her hair, I pump my hips, imprinting my hunger into her tight little body as though my rough treatment of her might assuage the ache that’s growing inside me, demanding to be appeased. “One other thing. You’re not going to be an intern.”

  “What?” she snaps, trying to pull her hands free. “Are you firing me?”

  “No!” I wedge my foot between her heels, unhand her hair to reach down and lift her hem. “You’re going to be part of my staff. Paid. Less a chance of impropriety.”

  “But still...it’s going to get someone’s panties in a twist,” she counters.

  Lifting off her just enough to slip my hand between us, I hook my finger inside the ribbon over her hip and snap. “But not yours.”

  She thrashes against me. “Let me touch you. Your hair. For GOD’S SAKE!”

  Her words spur me on. She’s unraveling and giving me exactly what I hunger for. “I can see I’ve got my work cut out. Tomorrow, there’s no arguing. No talking back, or you’ll soon learn what happens to submissives who can’t control themselves. Would you care for a taste?”

  “I can take whatever you’re dishing out, Senator!”

  What I’d give to have her wrists bound and secured. To have her tied to a bench or a cross or a bed. Doesn’t matter. I want her begging me to pinch her nipples as I fuck her tits. How I’d enjoy feeding my cock into her lush mouth as she sucks on my crown.

  I release her wrists and stare into her face. “You need a little lesson in controlling that fresh mouth of yours. Kneel down and open your lips, and beg me for my cock,” I bite out the words as I undo my fly, lower my zipper, and free my dick.