Misadventures of a Backup Bride

by Shayla Black

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  Chapter One

  CHARLOTTE

  Every minute that passes, I seem to sink farther down into the couch. I’m smaller, heavier, less noticeable. I’m not sure I mind.

  The room is noisy with music and people I don’t want to talk to. I may be one of the most important people in the room, but I’m still new to the DC scene. Right now, there aren’t that many friendly faces, though I’m sure that will change quickly. Our parents might run the world, but the rest of us just want to get fucked up and have our fun while no one’s watching.

  I take a gulp of tequila from my crystal tumbler and glance sideways toward the hallway. Zane stands there like a stone mountain, his body half-obscured behind the wall, the other half visibly squared toward me. His eyes are slate gray and seem to blacken when he’s particularly pissed off. The rest of his features match his dark demeanor. His neatly trimmed chestnut hair does nothing to hide the earpiece he wears constantly. His skin is a natural olive. His typical black suit is tailored perfectly to his muscular frame, and my gaze lingers where it shouldn’t—the apex of his thighs.

  I return my focus to my drink and take another sip. My head is already buzzing with the effects of the alcohol, but I don’t care. I’ve been living and breathing my father’s election for almost two years. All eyes on us. All the right moves. Cameras, interviews, gossip, drama. At some point, my anxiety took over. And at some point, I started using whatever means I could to temper it.

  The life of a politician’s daughter was one I was used to, but nothing could have prepared me for the nationwide attention of the campaign. Months of brutal, relentless attention. As much as I wanted him to win, I dreaded the life we were signing on for. A new home in a new city, new friends, new everything. The only plus was no one was going to be looking at me under a microscope that way anymore. At least not until the next election.

  Over the rim of the glass, one familiar face stands out among the group gathered in the large living area. Nate Christiansen’s curly brown hair is tight to his scalp. He’s tall with a pale complexion and a bright, practiced smile. The more I drink, the more attractive he becomes. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy, either. This is the third time he’s invited me over to his penthouse. Once for another party, and once for drinks that could have led to sex. But of course Zane was banging on the door, telling me I had to get back home.

  Well, not tonight.

  The inauguration buzz has died down, and my parents have settled into a routine that doesn’t involve me. My mother’s redecorating the Lincoln Bedroom, and my father has his finger on the pulse of the world. No room for me. No time for the daughter who only tried to be perfect for them.

  I lift myself from the couch, steady myself on my heels, and move toward Nate. He turns away from the person he’s talking to—another senator’s son, no doubt—and the corner of his mouth lifts into a smug grin. I match it, and by the time I reach him, he’s alone.

  “Hey, stranger.” I greet him in a sing-songy voice.

  He trails his fingertip down my bare arm. “How’s the party? I feel like we haven’t talked all night.”

  “The party is great. But you know what?” I hand my empty glass to him. “Sometimes talking is overrated.”

  His lips part slightly as his gaze takes a journey from my lips to my tits and back up again. “You’re absolutely right, Charlotte. I don’t want to be inattentive to the needs of my guests. So tell me, how can I make this night everything you want it to be?”

  The suggestion in his tone is heavy and obvious. Unquestionably, I’m heading down a path that will lead to his bedroom. And that’s what I want. I want the tequila to numb the last of my inhibitions, and I want to get fucked out of my mind.

  “Perhaps we could find a quiet spot,” I say.

  I glance back to Zane, who’s crossed the threshold into the room and has me in his crosshairs, as usual. His intense gaze has my breath catching. Without a doubt he works out, and I’m guessing years of training has armed him with lethal skills that he’ll never have to use following me around for the next four years.

  I’m trouble, but I’m not that much trouble… Well, maybe I am.

  I turn back to Nate and keep my voice low. “Problem is, I have a hard time getting any privacy.”

  Nate’s focus shifts to Zane and then back to me. His eyes are still and calculating. “Sure. Listen, the guest bathroom probably has a line. Why don’t you use the one in the master at the end of the hall? It has a connecting room on the other side. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

  I smile easily, because the tequila is warming me, and I want a man’s hands on me now at any cost. His plan sounds perfect.

  Without another word, I spin and head back toward Zane, who is guarding the path I need to take. I don’t bother acknowledging him or my plan in any way and slip past him. I’m almost to the door at the end of the hallway when he says my name.

  It’s low and clipped and sends a shiver down my spine. I spin toward him instantly, and he almost barrels into me. I brace my hands against his chest, but I’m off balance. He lassos my waist with his arm and straightens me before I fall.

  “Sorry,” he mutters, but there’s no genuine feeling behind the word. He steps away, regaining a professional distance between us.

  I blink a few times because I can’t remember another time when he’d touched me that much. A subtle touch here or there to guide me through a crowd, but nothing that demonstrated his strength, his warmth… I’m probably just revved up in anticipation of being with Nate, but I feel like all the blood in my body just rushed between my legs.

  “It’s no problem,” I say wistfully. God, I’m ready to fuck anything with a third leg right now.

  “Where are you going?” His unfeeling tone brings me back to reality. He’s only here to protect me and kill every chance I have at fun.

  I take another step back. “I’m going to the bathroom. There’s a line at the other one.”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to be in there.” He nods toward Nate’s bedroom door.

  I roll my eyes. “Zane, I’ve been here before at Nate’s invitation, as you well know. I don’t think he cares if I use his bathroom.”

  Zane’s jaw hardens, and he resumes his normal posture. Legs wide, hands clasped together. Cold, silent eyes. “Fine.”

  I exhale with relief and hurry away before he changes his mind. I’m so horny now I can barely see straight. As I slam the door behind me, a door on the other side of the bedroom opens and Nate’s there. He’s head-to-toe smug white privilege, from his collared polo to his designer Italian leather shoes. He’ll never be my type, but this is my life. I’ll probably end up marrying someone like him. Might as well get used to it.

  For right now, though, I just need release. I need to get out of my head, because the tequila’s only done half the work.

  I walk toward him, and he meets me halfway. His mouth is on me before I can say anything. He’s all tongue and teeth. Bourbon on his breath. Awkward grasps that have my body tensing despite the fact that I asked for this. He nudges me to the edge of the bed and has his hand on the prize, groping me roughly over my panties. My arousal doesn’t belong to him, but I try to ignore that and kiss him back.

  I just need to disappear and forget this warped existence of mine for a while. Can he give me that? Maybe he’s a better lover than his foreplay skills suggest. He takes his hands off me long enough to unzip his slacks. Uncertainty falls like a stone in the pit of my stomach when he whips out his dick. It’s long and thin and pale, just like its owner.

  “You good?” He’s got his hands on my hips again, pushing me firmly into the mattress.

  I swallow and find my courage. “Turn me around.”

  He smirks. “You like it like that?”

  I nod, because I’m not sure I want to see him wh
en he’s fucking me. I can think of something or someone else this way.

  Zane. With his strong hands and eyes like a cold December morning. I gasp when Nate takes me out of my fantasy, spins me around, and yanks my dress up over my hips. He’s rough in his motions, but I take two fistfuls of the blanket and brace myself for whatever he wants to do.

  I wait for him to pull my thong out of the way when instead he takes a handful of my hair and tugs it painfully. I bite my lip to stifle my objection to his roughness.

  Smack.

  I yelp the second his hand makes contact with my ass. I struggle to get out of his grasp, but he’s stronger than I am. Tears well up in my eyes.

  He slaps me again, harder this time, and his fist tightens in my hair.

  “Nate…no.”

  He’s yanking my thong to the side. No, not like this…

  I put my hands behind me, trying to push him away so we can end this before it begins. I’m stone sober now, my heart racing with panic.

  “Sorry, baby. I should have told you…I like it rough. All the girls want it this way now. You’ll see…”

  Before I can beg him to stop, a thunderous banging on the door freezes us both.

  “Charlotte. Open this door.”

  “Jesus Christ. Tell him you’ll be out in a minute. I won’t take too long.”

  I shake my head even though it hurts to. I don’t want this anymore. “We should stop.”

  “Nah. This guy’s cockblocked me for the last time.”

  I feel Nate’s fingers against my pussy, and I can’t help it. I scream.

  Bang! Bang! Crack!

  The sounds of the party carry into the room when the door busts open. Zane kicks it closed behind him, but it won’t latch because the wood from the jamb is lying in a dozen splinters on the floor.

  “Get your fucking hands off her.”

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