Vetting The Senator

by Alex Elliott

  “Better not keep him waiting,” she whispers. “He’s a little driven where you’re concerned.”

  My eyes snap to hers. I remind myself that if Ben and I were doing no more than what was captured in the press photographs, it’s not revolutionary. Us together is part of my job. But can I play it off as media hype? Harder when the Veep’s office now is leaking sound bites that my and Bennett’s ties are tinged in romance. They’re the ones looking for an avenue to sell a love story, but in doing so, the secret under the secret under the secret is getting harder to hide and I don’t even know if I want to anymore.

  “Uh, a question. Where’s the rear exit?” I click out of the Senate server, diverting my focus to my computer screen, instead of tuning into the riotous thoughts whirling inside my head.

  “I’d better take you. Otherwise, you’ll get lost.”

  “Are you ready to roll? Like right now?” She walks to my door, and I rise, prepared to follow her.

  She glances over her shoulder. “Just need to get my purse. Don’t worry, I’m well aware that Bennett’s a stickler for the here and now when it comes to certain things.”

  “Excuse me?” I almost drop my purse.

  She slides her gaze away from mine, jerking her chin toward the direction of the doorway “The press. They’re camped out front. Bet he’s trying to avoid them.”

  Chapter 15

  FREUD ID SHIT

  “WHAT IN the fuck are you saying?” I stare at Archer and when he chuckles darkly, I flip him off, lifting out of the chair I’m ready to toss out of the window next to me.

  “For once in his sorry ass life, Gabriel North wasn’t lying through his teeth.”

  “Tell me every goddamn detail,” I snap. “I pay you good money and why am I only hearing about this now? We don’t allow members to have their own dungeons. I could have used a heads up sooner than this.”

  “The intel wasn’t available.”

  “And now it is.” I’d hoped that maybe—just maybe North was bluffing. I never went back to my office. After the complete freak show of a lunch, I tracked down Archer and lambasted him in his office. Between sending out emails, and being patched into conference calls, I’ve managed to sit down with him, and get a handle on the fucked up shit between Angela Warner and the president.

  “Yep. I found a source.” With his feet on his desk, Archer tosses a baseball up into the air. And catches it, before he tosses it up again.

  “And?” I watch the ball spiral upward and curse under my breath. “I’m not paying you to practice your ball tossing skills.”

  “God, you’re in rare fucking form. Fine,” he grunts out. “He’s got a mountaintop home, built like a fortress few know about, and he flies Warner out there one, two, three times a month, doing everything from staying a few hours with her to spending a mountaintop weekend here and there.”

  “How do you know about this place—out of the blue?”

  “Because I’m tight with his chef if you must know. Never discount the house staff; they’re the ones who know more shit than the FBI on our fearless leaders.”

  “Why’s it so under the radar?”

  Archer catches the baseball and holds onto it, rubbing his thumb over the seam as if he’s contemplating what to say. “Look, why I know this is unimportant. But it’s confirmed as in photographs, video feed, emails. Even paid invoices from the welder who outfitted a little known room with an array of highly specific bondage equipment that North had especially made. He’s not stupid. He takes his wife and grandchildren there as a cover.”

  Motherfucker. Figures North would use his family as a smokescreen when he’s got Warner in restraints.

  “How much equipment are we talking about?”

  Archer pushes back in his chair and lowers his legs, his feet thudding to the floor. “Take a look.” He rapidly sweeps his fingers along a keyboard and I come up bedside him. On his monitor are several schematic drawings. “North’s subterranean dungeon has access points through an underground tunnel that connects a guesthouse on his property located a quarter mile away.” Archer types more commands and I get an overview of the property.

  “He’s crafty—what a bastard,” I retort.

  “I’ve been in direct contact with one of the interior designers, and pulled a few strings to get the woman to talk. Ole POTUS has got a thing for horizontal suspension, hogtying his partners...his multiple partners from the equipment he’s installed. Would you like to see his specialty?” I glance at him and he’s not smiling.

  Yet conversely, that only makes North’s contact with me, and his request to watch me in action illogical. Noah can capably help the president out. Far more than I can. I’m not into tag teams.

  “Show me whatever you’ve discovered,” I snap.

  He clicks his mouse and opens up another window. The screen is filled with grainy photographs, but clearly I can make out North along with another man wearing a hood. Both have whips in their hands. Warner’s bound and gagged and there’s another woman cuffed and gagged as well—both are shackled crudely. I scan the date and time stamped photos that fill the screen along with several more pages. The scenes photographed resemble methods employed by the CIA to torture detainees—a subject Warner and I addressed last year in a slew of Senate intelligence committee hearings. An obstacle arose when she wanted to visit a CIA prison to be present as a witness behind a two-way mirror. Forget about visiting, I staunchly opposed several of these methods, and the hearings halted this sick shit at Guantanamo. Fuck! The type of sadistic punishment North and the other man dish out to these women doesn’t fly at the House. Ever.

  I turn away in disgust. “I’ve seen enough.” Explains a lot of why he’s on board when Noah’s running a threesome show at the House. What we offer must seem tame compared to the depraved shit he’s after. “How long has he been into that type of torture scene?” I ask Archer, in a low voice and think of Xavia. On the first of never will North get his hands on her.

  “Years from what I can tell.”

  There’s something the leader of the free world wants, and more and more I’m convinced it’s her. Not just my sub but Xavia. Somehow that fucker has found out that she’s my submissive, and he’s after her.

  I’m ready to punch a wall as I clench my jaw. “How close is he to the Stillman and Kennedy clans? I’m talking beyond politics. Backdoor favor type of shit.”

  Archer exhales. “Give me a sec.”

  Off the top of my head and everyone else’s on the Hill, we’re all aware that North has a longstanding history with the Stillmans and the Kennedys as do a slew of my esteemed members of Congress. As Archer dances his fingers over his keyboard, I trade a text with Oliver about my Monday schedule, and step into a vacant office down the hall and return a couple of phone calls. I stare at Xavia’s contact listing, and fuck...I want to call her, but I need to get my head on straight. When I return, Archer’s at his printer.

  “Here. A list of their most recent social connections. I’m still working on the cousin and the shit he’s involved in. I’m close.”

  “Fuck. Any idea why he’s in D.C.?”

  “When I get a solid lead, you’ll be the first to know.” He hands me a spreadsheet that’s long as hell, filling three pages. “This ought to give you what you’re looking for about POTUS.”

  A month ago, North invited them to a private movie screening at the White House. Renamed the library after Xavia’s step-uncle. Attended a birthday celebration for her grandfather in Manhattan. Was onboard a yacht down in Bimini for a day of deep-sea fishing again with Stanley. He and Stan worked on several high-profile charity benefits in Chicago, L.A., and Miami—and then across Europe in Frankfurt, Stockholm, and Prague.

  “Stan the man and POTUS are tight in raising international awareness for Alzheimer’s and healthcare,” I observe offhandedly.

  Archer snorts. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  *

  I exit the underground parking lot and head back to m
y office, pulling the knot in my tie loose. Almost five and it’s a wall of traffic. This day went all the way to hell and I got little done relative to legislative work besides attending two ball-breaking meetings. For a senator, that’s a big so-the-fuck-what with this pair of appointments being off-the-books, and for hours I’ve been running under the wire. Sort of. X, Oliver, and Nora know about the lunch with Jax—only Xavia knows it dealt with the House. But no one else has a clue where I’ve been for the last two hours.

  Crappy day to get lost, but I’m not incommunicado. Oliver, Nora, and I have traded texts. Other staffers have updated me on the uproar going down from the Cuban trade policy in flux. Voters want assurances another boatlift isn’t about to happen. Coming off a side street I use to dodge traffic, I creep along until finally I’m parked at the back entrance to my building. I phone upstairs, speak to X. She’ll be down in five and I lean my head back, forcing my mind to stop churning.

  When I see the rear exit door start to open, I’m out of my car, flipping my sunglasses to the top of my head.

  “Everything okay?” I ask a little too sharply, gazing at X’s worried expression.

  “Fine,” she assures me with a tight smile. “Just didn’t know what to expect.”

  “Ben,” Nora’s voice rings out from behind Xavia before she comes into view. “Better get going. Word is the reporters are rounding the building. One of the guards might have leaked that they saw Ms. Kennedy.”

  “Thanks, Nora. Remind me to give you a raise,” I reply but I don’t smile. I’m off my mark.

  “I thought we wanted them to get some photographs of us?” Xavia sounds concerned and I nod stiffly.

  “We do. But we decide when. The time and place is of our choosing.”

  Nora waves, and I take X by her elbow, steering her to the passenger side while savoring the trace her fragrance adrift in the hot summer air. If Nora wasn’t around, I’d give two flying fucks about the press, and kiss Xavia until she whimpers and makes me forget all the bullshit that’s clogging my thoughts.

  Tightening my grip on X’s arm, I pull her to me. “What I’d do to take you back to my apartment and strip you bare. Tie you with silk rope, and have my way with you.”

  “We’d better go,” she whispers.

  As I stare into her eyes, I’m near to sampling her perfect mouth. Assistant staring—not important!

  “Bennett?” X asks softly.

  “Right,” I say. Okay, now would be the point where I release her arm. I do, and mock salute Nora while I walk around my car, grinding my back molars.

  “What are you hungry for?” X asks when I get in and turn to her, no more wasting time.

  “For this.” I devour her mouth with a hungry kiss, demonstrating she’s on my menu. “I need you under me, or better yet, my face between your thighs.”

  “Two more days,” she whispers against my lips.

  I growl, “That doesn’t seem probable after today. I don’t know if I can hold out for five more seconds.” For the past week, our schedules exploded and with staff all around, we’ve been forced to moderate skin-on-skin reunions. Not tonight. I let go of her, giving myself a moment to digest us fucking isn’t going to happen in the next three minutes.

  “Are you sure...everything’s all right? Went all right with the meeting with Jax? He stopped by.”

  Mother...fucker. Before I curse out loud, I inhale and get hold of myself. “It did and he probably came calling about the Cuban dignitaries.”

  “He seemed stressed.” She lowers the mirror as I start the car and pull out from the alley. If I could tell her the truth I would. But where to start...her grandparents are on my radar as is her cousin. Without a plan or evidence, I can’t unnerve her with speculation.

  I glance out my side window, preparing to exit the alley. “God, get a load of the throng.”

  “Don’t they have something important to report upon besides us,” she comments, gripping the console, her eyes wide and directed to the line of reporters and photographers barreling down the sidewalk like a herd of wildebeest.

  “Don’t worry,” I reassure her, squeezing her hand. “Our windows are tinted.” I gas the engine, peeling out onto the street as a few of the photographers snap useless photos.

  “Smart option. The devil’s in the details,” she whispers.

  I run my thumb along her cheek. “I’ve owned up to what I’d like to eat. What about you?”

  She looks over and smiles. “How about something fun?”

  “I could go for some fun. Define.” I downshift, silently cursing Gabriel North. What a cocksucker and Jax—I’ll find out exactly what the link is there. We come to a red light and as she reapplies her lipstick, I hungrily steal a sliver of time, relishing the sight of her dressed in a slim-fitting skirt, a thin white blouse under a jacket that matches her skirt. Her submissive collar glimmers at her neck, and I almost grunt in caveman satisfaction. She wears her blond hair up. The entire effect is simple. Elegant.

  And the opposite to what I imagine lies underneath. Fine lace lingerie if I have to wager. The kind that should be removed, slowly with my teeth if I don’t get myself worked up into a lather prior. We have experience with my ‘ripping the panties from her incredible body routine’ before I fuck her for hours.

  “Are you listening?” She laughs.

  I blink, take a deep breath, and shake my head. “Sorry. I was daydreaming of doing wicked things to you. Later.”

  “Operative word: daydreaming.”

  “X, the lines are blurring,” I admit abruptly both to her and to myself aloud. I glance over to her and finish what I started, “This isn’t what I want anymore.”

  “As in less, more, or not at all?” she asks, her voice husky—a little wary. “Maybe we’d better define what you’re talking about before we do dinner.”

  “Baby, I’m not talking about less or none. That’s for sure.”

  “Oh,” she replies. “Go on.”

  “How about a compromise?” I offer as I accelerate and take a side street. “Let’s eat, relax, and discuss us.”

  “Does this have anything to do with your meeting today or how we’re barely keeping your Dom commitment at the House?”

  “You’re astute as ever and yeah, some. But it’s more. I need more...of us.” I gaze at her, willing her to freely agree.

  “Us?”

  “Yep. You and me. Us. Only us.”

  She nods without grilling me. “Okay, so what about food?”

  “We can eat in or out?” I casually say, but I’m all for turning this car around and heading where? To my apartment?

  “We’d better do out...otherwise we both know we won’t be eating food tonight. What’s your favorite thing to eat?”

  “I’ve already answered that question.” Darkly I laugh at both her reaction and her follow-up gasp. “Honestly, I’m just your average hamburger-fries-beer guzzling kinda guy,” I tell her and wait.

  “I’m down for that fare. Where can we get a good burger?”

  “Seriously?” I let my eyes roam down the front of her body. “You’re dressed for candlelight and wine.”

  “I’m dressed for work but I can do burgers and fries and drink you under the table. Make no mistake, these outer trappings have nothing to do with my taste buds. Senator, I thought we already established that.”

  “You’re on, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I smirk. “For the best burger, there’s only one place. Duke’s Grocery. Monster burgers and not far from here. Nearly a straight shot down Massachusetts’s Avenue.”

  “Off 17th. Right?”

  “You’re learning your neighborhoods.” In that instant, I realize how much I want her to learn her way around D.C. enough to remain—close to me. Until I think of Gabriel Fucking North. I compress my lips, torn by what I want or rather who. Before meeting X, I never believed I’d fall. This hard.

  “I’d better let the press know. Leslie sent over an email, requesting we offer the media a bone with your upcom
ing announcement,” she replies, taking out her cell as I curl my fists around the steering wheel at the thought of us being on stage.

  “Jesus,” I mutter.

  Pulling into a parking garage next door to Duke’s, I undo the top button on my collar. We’re parked in a corner, and in the dim sodium lights, I envision the logistics of spreading X’s thighs and having her as an hors d’oeuvre. When her sultry laugh rings in my ears, I realize I’m staring. With my mouth ajar, she’s watching me—catching me in my dirty fantasy number nine million and three.

  Our gazes fuse, and the smile pulling at the corners of her full lips exorcises a deep groan from my throat and simultaneously a twinge flickers in my chest. “Can’t blame me,” I grunt in my defense and roll my eyes. My cock is hard, and if we have to wait two hours—forget two days—I’ll go insane. “Let’s eat and figure out some things.”

  I get her door, forging steel into my resolve to play it cool, but all the while, I’m ravenous to do more than stare, daydream, worry, and mull over my next move with this woman. Until I can figure out what the hell is going down, my only desire is to keep her close. So fucking close as I wrap her around me.

  “I’ve heard about this place.” She uncrosses her legs and instinctively I crane my neck, copping a glance between her legs. Granted, I’m a pig and greedy, ready to devour every morsel I can find and take where she’s concerned.

  If I kiss her, we won’t make it out of the parking garage. The slight flair in her brow as she glances down my body when I hoist her upward, tells me that she’s aware of the state of my hard-on, and serves as a catalyst to my barely controlled need to have her under me and screaming.

  I cage her within my arms, using my body and my tone to warn her. “Just so you know, smart comments are more than likely to get you into trouble.”

  “The hot, hard, hair-pulling kind of trouble?” She bites her lip, and I raise my brow.