by Amy Faye
Even before it pressed inside she could feel it starting to spread her, starting to tease her lips open. "Please, God, just fuck me," she begged. She hadn't begged anyone for anything in a long time, and yet one day with Paul and she was already back to it as if no time had passed at all.
He took her ass in his hands and toyed with it a moment before thrusting himself forward, filling her up in one smooth motion. She hadn't felt like this in years. Even then, it hadn't been this good, she thought. In college, she hadn't missed it so much, for all this time. She hadn't missed him so much.
He thrust against her–he didn't start slow. Paul never did. His hands dug into her hips, pulling her back against him with every movement forward, until she could feel him losing his rhythm, losing whatever self control he'd had in the beginning.
"God, Lara, I'm–"
"Not inside," she told him. Her voice was firmer than she'd expected. Firmer than she'd realized possible, when all she wanted was for him to fill her up again, like he had all those years ago.
He pulled out of her and the feeling of delicious fullness left with him. He spent himself on her ass and then stood behind her, his breath coming hard and ragged.
"God, Lara, that was–"
She stayed pressed up against the wall. That had been a mistake, she knew. Now that the arousal wasn't pushing her on, she knew that she shouldn't have done it. If he touched her again, then she knew she'd make the same mistake again, in a heartbeat.
As she tried to regain her composure, she felt his fingers probing her lips down below, and Lara prepared herself to make another mistake.
9
Paul gave his eyes permission to close as he settled into the leather swivel chair on his plane. It wasn't as big as some, but it was big enough for him, and a few select members of the press, and a few advisers. More than big enough for the entourage he kept with him. In fact, he thought with a vague sense of sadness, it had space for two more. Space he'd made very certain was left open on the passenger manifest, at around three that morning.
He wasn't expecting her to show up, of course. She'd already gotten out of his life once before. Whatever it was that had separated them, all that time ago–whatever he'd done–it was already done, and it wasn't going to go away just because of another little fling.
But at the same time, he knew, she was probably thinking that he was just going to fuck off at the end of their night, and he wanted her to know, at least in theory, that wasn't the case. He very much wanted her along for the ride, even if she couldn't do much. Her face, and the boy whose father was evidently no longer in the picture, was enough to recharge his batteries, and with months left to go, maybe that was enough.
In an hour or so, they were going to leave, and then he'd have to forget about her again, as much as he ever had. If history was any indicator then he was going to have a devil of a time doing it, same as he had the first time.
But at least now he could feel like there was something, somewhere, that was… almost good. Brian's voice cut through the light headphones he had on his ears.
"Sir?"
He pushed the headphones down and off his ears, as if he needed to. As if there was something playing through them, even though there was nothing, and he could hear just fine through them.
"Brian?"
The man's expression never changed. Not even when he was relaxing. It was like he was trying to hold a pencil between his eyebrows. His back was stick-straight like it always was. He looked better than he had the night before, after the accident. That was good, at least.
"There's someone outside."
"Send them up," Paul answered.
"She's… not coming, sir."
"Then why is she on the tarmac?"
"She says she needs to talk to you," he said.
"Okay. She can talk to me on the plane."
"I don't know what to tell you, sir. I can roust her, but she's insisting you come down to see her."
Paul took a deep breath. That sounded like the Lara he'd known. Stubborn. It was a quality as endearing as it was frustrating. "Yeah, that sounds right. Okay."
The Senator pushed himself up from the seat, its cushions thick and comfortable. Too comfortable for him. This was just another thing that was turning him soft inside, making it hard to keep his head on straight. Before he knew it he was a politician just like the rest of them, sitting in cushy chairs and not doing what he'd promised to do.
She stood on the tarmac, at the bottom of the steps, which would be carted away in another fifteen minutes or so. At the last minute, he'd instructed. Helen was in the back and hopefully she'd taken her Xanax because she was going to be having a conniption at the idea that they might not be rushing to the next stop.
"You're here," he said. He smiled at Tim, who looked at the plane like it was impossible that he was standing there. He had a backpack on, and Lara had a suitcase.
"And I'll leave in a minute if I think you're doing something stupid."
"Good," Paul answered. He couldn't help smiling. He hated smiling now. It was what he did when he was bullshitting someone, and he was tired of it. Lara didn't deserve it. "I need someone who won't tell me what I want to hear."
"Mom? Are we getting on that plane?"
She knelt down and touched his face. "Not yet, sweetie. Mommy and Senator Green need to talk first."
Paul could see the boy didn't like that answer, so he set a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Your mother knows her business, okay? We'll just talk, and then I'll introduce you to the captain and show you around. Okay?"
Lara gave him a severe look. "Who says I'm coming with you? Who says he is?"
Paul's smile was still as inappropriate as it had been before. He ought to have been able to stop himself, ought to have been able to turn off the smile. When he was in front of a crowd, when he was talking to constituents and television people, he could turn it off. But with Lara, it was stuck in place no matter what he tried. He pushed the corners of his lips down, but he could feel them fighting back.
"Of course, Lara. I understand."
"What do you want us here for?"
"Well, I mean–I need Tim around, don't I?"
Lara raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean, Paul?"
"I need someone who's really invested in the political process," he answered. It was halfway true. There was something about the boy, something charming. An energy that Paul felt himself just about sustaining himself on. But he wasn't about to tell her that it was because he was fond of the boy. Not when he could barely explain what it was he liked so much.
Something about his excitement, and that was all he could say.
Lara's lips pinched together. "Alright," she said finally. Tim started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Paul watched him go.
"But?"
"But you leave him out of it. He's not a prop. He's not for you to use."
"Does that mean you are?" He smiled at her, enjoying the way her face reddened.
"Just for that, Paul, you can carry my luggage."
She didn't say no, though–that was something, and it was something that he didn't miss. Brian came down to grab the bag and Paul waved him off.
"Tell the pilot to prepare for takeoff, but we've got a special passenger who wants to meet him first. Can you do that?"
He hefted the bag. It was heavy. He started up the steps. He felt like taking them two at a time himself. Lara and her son were already doing their jobs wonderfully. Now it was his turn.
10
There were a thousand things Lara had hopes for. Most of them were closer to fantasies than hopes. It was important for her to remember which were which–which things were hopes and which were dreams.
It had hurt her years ago, when she'd forgotten that. When she'd let herself hope for a dream, that she could be with the man who she thought she loved. The man she thought loved her. And maybe, in his own way, he had.
But the minute she'd showed up at his office with a positive test,
he'd sent her away without even seeing her, and disappeared. Maybe he did love her, in his own way, but it was important for her to remember–he loved the job more. He loved his career more. Maybe there was room for her in the middle of that.
That hope was still there, even after all these years. Even after she'd thought that it was gone for good. She ought to have known better, but last night had proven once and for all that no matter how much he did to her, no matter how much he humiliated her, she wasn't going to ever quite forget that awe she'd had for him.
Now he wanted her again and she came like his obedient little dog. So there were two dreams right there–the first, that maybe one day he would really love her, love her more than he loved being powerful and wealthy. The second, that maybe one day she wouldn't love him more than she loved her pride. Neither was ever going to happen.
But there were things that she had bigger hopes for. Things she might actually be able to get, if things went well. She had made this mistake before–the mistake of thinking she knew what might happen–but this time, she knew better. That was what she told herself, at least.
She settled into a chair that was probably, by itself, worth a year of her salary. Well, what her salary had been. It was a mistake, but she'd left that behind for the promise that he'd find something for her to do for him. She hoped that she couldn't guess what it was.
Paul was up front with Tim, introducing him to the pilot. God, if there was anyone he could like more than Politicians, please let it be airline pilots. At least then he could stay safe and stay relatively sane.
When they came back, Tim had a hat pressed onto his head, twice as big as his little head. An airline captain's hat. He held it on with one hand, the other one attached to Paul's hand.
"How was that?"
Tim looked up at him at the question. "That was great," he said, as if he'd already said it once before, and was just reminding Paul.
"Not to me," Paul said, smiling and crouching down. "Tell your mother!"
Tim climbed into the seat opposite her. "Seat belt," Lara corrected before he could start in.
Paul dutifully settled into his seat across from them. Tim did up the seat belt, which seemed way too big for him. "I met the captain," he said. "Mr… um…"
Paul leaned over and covered his mouth, whispering something conspiratorially. Tim's eyes slanted up and to the side before he nodded.
"Mr. Ando! He's from Japan, Mom. He knows all about planes."
"Oh yeah?"
"He says we're going to have an extra careful flight, so you don't have to be nervous any more."
Lara blushed, and hoped Paul didn't notice. With him, that was impossible, though. He seemed to always notice every weakness of hers, every chink in her armor. "I'm not nervous," she answered defensively. "It's just been a little while since I flew."
"But Mr. Ando says it'll be fine."
"Good. Did he let you borrow his hat?"
Tim lifted it up off his head and looked at it like he had forgotten it was there. "Oh. Yeah!"
Lana could feel the airplane start to move, and her hands tightened automatically on the wide arm rests.
"You don't need to be nervous, Mom," Tim reminded her with every ounce of helpfulness he could muster. "Like I said. Extra careful!"
Paul chimed in then, as if to complete her humiliation. "You heard the man. Extra-careful, right?"
"Right," Tim echoed.
They rose quickly, and she could feel her stomach being left behind on the ground. She didn't regret it, per se, but good God, she'd forgotten how much she disliked flying. This was a mistake, without a single doubt.
By the time they'd leveled out, Lara's heart was thumping and she had pushed the window next to her shut. A young woman–just Paul's type, Lara noted sourly–stepped back from the cabin.
"Okay, we're leveling out. You're good," she said. The woman gave a look at Lara, but if she had any thoughts, then the girl kept them to herself.
Paul unbuckled his seat belt almost immediately and stood, stretching his legs and walking towards the back of the plane. He turned at the last minute before disappearing into the hostess station. "I'll just be one minute," he said, as if she cared, and then it occurred to Lara that he wasn't necessarily talking to her.
True to his word, he reappeared a minute later with a man younger than Lara was, thick plastic-rimmed glasses and a serious expression.
"Hey, Travis, this is my friend Tim. Tim, this is my friend Travis. He works for the New York Times. He's a reporter. Can you say hi, Tim?"
Tim smiled up at him and waved. "Hello."
"Hi," said the reporter–Travis, Paul had called him. "How are you? You like the plane?"
"It's big," Tim said, as if Travis might not have noticed.
"Yeah, pretty big," the reporter said. "And who's this?"
Lara covered up her face. "Please don't take a picture of me," she said. "I'd rather–"
"That's my mom," Tim offered, as if he didn't notice her avoiding the conversation.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, she's Mr. Green's friend, she said. From a long time ago."
"Is that right?"
She heard the edge of a deeper question in the reporter's voice, and something told her that she wasn't going to have the quiet, solitary, out-of-the-public-eye trip that she'd hoped for.
She should have known not to hope for things that were never going to happen, but she was still making the same mistakes all over again. Why not one more?
11
Paul smiled as they took off from Philadelphia. Lara still wasn't used to flying. Still gripped the arms of the chair as tight as her fingers would allow. And she still acted like she didn't do any of it, of course, which was almost as charming as well.
"You know, you don't have anything to worry about," he offered. Tim chimed in with a 'yeah!'
She shot Tim a narrow-eyed look with a little humor in it. Then she turned it on him and though nothing about it changed he wasn't so sure about the humor any more.
"I'm not worried," she told him, her voice matter-of-fact. "I just don't like the feeling in my stomach. It makes me feel queasy."
"Oh, you'll get used to it."
He looked out the window. There was something about being on a plan constantly. You get a different view of the country from 30,000 feet. Like all of its problems seem so small. And yet, he knew, they were all so big.
The people themselves were small, and yet they added up to something he couldn't really explain. That was one way that he hadn't even realized that Lara and Tim would help. They were a subtle reminder of what sort of things 'everyday people' worried about.
Helen worried about things that even Paul himself couldn't quite wrap his head around. She was almost alien to him. She worried about public appearances, about how people thought of her, but the minute that someone spent more than five minutes with her, she stopped caring about whether or not she was nice to them. That was a contradiction–if you want people to like you, then you have to treat them with respect.
If you don't care if people like you, then why spend so much time, so much effort, worrying about it constantly? The answer was obvious. She was as acidic towards everyone else as she was to him, but she was convinced that at any moment, they would turn against her.
With Paul, he guessed, she thought that she was safe to treat him like she did because she thought she had him by the balls. Maybe she did. But that didn't mean that he wasn't a man, and as a man, it didn't mean he wasn't going to be stubborn as hell if he wanted to.
If he decided to burn the fucking place down then that was what he'd do.
"Sir?" Brian was standing by the gate into the back of the plane. Somehow Paul hadn't noticed him, lost in thought or lost in watching Lara's face as she spoke softly with her son.
"Is everything alright?"
"Ah, yes, sir. Everything ought to be fine. Maybe you should see this anyways, sir, just to be certain."
He took the laptop that Brian held i
n one hand and opened it up. There was an article on some right-wing rag. It was making the same usual sensational claims about his history. The same usual sensational claims about their campaign. The same usual, wrong, claims.
He let out a breath and scrolled. There was a name he recognized, there. Stan Reitman. He was a friend of Helen's. There had been a time, once, when Paul thought they were fucking. Helen wasn't the type, though, and she wasn't attractive enough to be able to use it as a bargaining chip.
Which meant that whatever he was working with her for, it wasn't between any bed sheets. The story claimed that the leaks on President Noble's involvement had come from Reitman; further, it claimed that they were total fabrications.
The second part, at least, was wrong. He knew that much. The first part, though…
"What does Helen have to say about it?"
"She says she's got no idea what they're talking about," Brian said. He didn't sound convinced himself.
Paul grimaced. He'd actually been feeling alright the past three days. He'd actually been able to cope with any of this. Tomorrow he'd be able to set down and actually sleep for a long night, and then he'd be back on the trail and ready to take on anything.
"Alright, thank you, Brian."
"Of course, sir."
At some point, he didn't know which, Lara had turned and was now looking at him.
"Is there something wrong?"
Tim's eyes were on him, brighter and hotter and full of more pressure than any spotlight he'd ever been under.
"I don't know. Probably not, but I ought to go and talk to my wife."
"Oh?" Tim's voice was coy, but Paul knew immediately that he wanted to be let in on the conversation. Better that he decided not to get into politics, and never learn how dirty it could get when the rubber met the road.
But if he wanted to know about how a politician's life was, then there wasn't much Paul could do about that. He would let him into big things, public things, until whatever interest he had lost steam and he finally could be convinced into something a little less insane.