One Good Woman

by Knox, Abby

The doctor assures me that, no, I’ll be able to go home today just as soon as my people arrive.

  “Be thankful you’re a strong swimmer, even when injured,” says the doctor.

  “Maybe mandatory swim lessons for everyone should be on my campaign agenda,” I offer.

  The doctor doesn’t disagree, but warns me to take it easy for a few days.

  Which, of course I won’t.

  In the meantime, I strike up a conversation with the patient in the bed next to mine.

  The hospital’s media liaison enters the room and introduces herself. “Excuse me, Ms. Featherstone, but there are some reporters here wondering if you can answer some questions about the accident?”

  I tell him I have zero interest in making any comments to the press.

  I only want two things: to see my daughter, and to see Buckley.

  I get my wish, as both of them appear from behind the curtain partition.

  Riley’s voice is the first thing I hear. “Oh my god, Mommy!”

  She hasn’t called me that since she was a toddler, and immediately I hold open my arms and pull her into a bear hug, no matter how it hurts from all the scrapes and bruises.

  Over her shoulder, I see Buckley. He looks pissed.

  “This bike tour ends. Now,” he says.

  I shoot him a look, but I know he’s coming from a place of concern.

  I hold Riley in my arms, and I tell him, “Then as my campaign manager, go out there and handle it.”

  I have a moment with Riley while Buckley steps outside to talk to the reporters assembled in the parking lot.

  After a few minutes, I see the breaking news on the TV in my room and the camera feed live from outside of the hospital.

  Not surprisingly, Buckley is extremely telegenic, if appearing a little frazzled from keeping watch over me.

  He tells the press, “Ms. Featherstone is in good condition, but as you know she was involved in a crash in which she was deliberately run off the road. Her bike tour has been cancelled, but she is still in the race.”

  Riley curls up next to me on my hospital bed and watches the press conference with me. “He’s kind of a dreamboat. A really old dreamboat, but nice. Good job, Mom.”

  “Riley, you know this just for show. I can’t have a relationship with a sex worker?”

  She shrugs. “Yeah. I guess. But you know, he wasn’t a real one, right? And anyway, I think it makes you a little bit more edgy and cool.”

  “I’ve never been edgy and cool. What else illegal can I do to win the younger vote?”

  Riley and I laugh and turn our attention back to the TV.

  “Most of you don’t know the real Daphne. There’s a real woman that nobody sees behind the tough exterior. She never stops working. She never stops thinking about other people. She never stops thinking about how to make things better. And that’s why, I’m not only her partner but I’ve reported her former campaign managers for conspiring with former Senator Rex Cutler, the Citizen, judges, Cutler’s associates and her opponent to not only plant false news stories, but also threatening to cause bodily harm to her and people in her orbit if they don’t cooperate.”

  The murmurs of the news crews grows into a low roar at this news.

  Riley sits up and whips out her phone and calls Buckley’s number.

  “Hi,” I say when she hands the phone to me.

  “Hi,” he says. “I’ve walked away from the mics so we can talk for real.”

  “Is Tim really involved in all of this?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but it could be Shawn rolled over on the whole group and now everyone is being investigated,” he says.

  “What are you doing, announcing all this on TV? That’s a pretty big risk to take. Why would you do that to yourself?”

  “Because I love you,” he replies.

  “Buckley, you know I’m not speaking to you right now, outside of strictly campaign-related conversations.”

  He pauses. “I know. So what do you say we change that and win this bitch together?”

  I go silent. I have to think.

  As we’ve been talking, Riley has been wheeling me out to him in a wheelchair—hospital regulations, even though I’m perfectly capable of walking.

  I roll up behind him and when he turns to see me, I look up at him and say, “No matter what happens, I’ve already won.”

  Epilogue

  Election night

  Daphne

  There’s a party going on outside the campaign bus, which is parked at my house.

  Correction: our house. Mine, Riley’s and Buckleys.

  Buckley and I are inside the bus, watching the results come in. Riley is watching the results with us via FaceTime from her dorm room at the state university.

  “Such a tough cookie,” Buckley says, his arm around me as we sprawl out together on the bed, the wall-mounted TV above us showing the cable news with its constant updates. “Not even letting your own daughter skip a day of college to come home and celebrate the big day?”

  “School is too important. Unlike people like Shawn and Stacey and Tim, we can’t just coast through life on our parents’ money or recognition.”

  He sniffs my hair and surreptitiously nibbles my ear. “Goody-goody. Don’t you ever give it a rest?”

  “If I did, CNN wouldn’t be declaring me the winner right now ... holy shit!” I cry.

  The three of us cheer and the crowd outside goes nuts.

  I grab my phone and go outside as my friends, family and campaign workers erupt in applause and cheers.

  Apart from having my Riley, this might be the greatest night of my life.

  I make a brief speech to thank all my supporters and workers, and then I let them continue with their partying. I blow a kiss to Riley and tell her it’s time for bed as she has an early class in the morning.

  After a while, the party breaks up and I feel Buckley tugging me toward the house.

  “Come on, time for bed, Mama. You can talk to your admirers tomorrow,” he says.

  But I’m so wired I can’t sleep.

  We lay on our bed in our pajamas and watch the news.

  “There’s a story about the U.S. Attorney’s office filing yet new charges in the Cutler conspiracy.

  As predicted, Shawn ratted everybody out in the Fang and Claw society. Judges, attorneys, even the head of state of a small country — all of them are headed to jail.

  “Turn that off,” he says.

  “So bossy,” I say, eyeing Buckley while he unbuttons my pajama shirt.

  “You love it,” he says, “And you’re gonna pay for making me pretend we were together.”

  “Don’t make me pay too hard. I have to be able to ride my bike tomorrow,” I say.

  He laughs as he pushes back my opened shirt and tugs down the lace of my bra until my tit spills out. He feathers the warm pad of his thumb over my soft nipple until it turns to a little pebble under his touch.

  “Oh, don’t worry about your pussy, my queen,” he says, tugging down the other cup of my bra and kissing and caressing both of them. “It’s that sweet mouth of yours that’s gonna get fucked this time.”

  My jaw drops at his insolence. I excitedly watch him drop his pants and sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Come here,” he instructs.

  I kneel in front of him and do exactly what he says. I’ll never get tired of being bossed around in the bedroom.

  I go to take Buckley’s penis into my mouth, but he takes control. He wraps his hand up in the long length of my hair, and uses it to pull me close until my mouth covers his erection without time to prepare. I gasp in surprise but then closes my eyes and starts to lick and suck the tip. I’ve been thirsty just thinking about this all damn day.

  “That’s my girl,” he grunts at me. “Your mouth is so good to me, Peaches.”

  When he murmurs sweet nothings to me, I grow more eager, swallowing more of him into my mouth and throat while he gently tugs my hair. The tugs become more urgent as he st
arts to thrust up and down into my mouth, but he doesn’t hurt. Well, maybe a little, but it’s so fucking hot to be controlled that the little bit of pain is delicious.

  “I want to see you rub your tits for me while you suck my cock,” Buckley rumbles.

  I’m only too happy to oblige.

  I let go of his hips and cups both of my breasts, massaging my nipples while letting him control the motion of my mouth on his cock. Our eyes lock and I push my shoulders back so he gets a good look at me squeezing my hard little buds, causing me to whimper with pleasure while I continue to wildly suck him, taking him all the way to the base of his shaft.

  “Fuck, what a visual,” he says, his breath becoming ragged.

  I taste and swallow a bead of pre-cum. Knowing how excited he is, combined with the hair pulling and my own hands pleasuring my breasts, a massive orgasm slams into me.

  But I don’t let go.

  “Baby, I’m coming,” he says. “Just being in the same room with you makes me feel like I could spurt in my pants, and most of the time I am halfway controlling it.”

  He curses loudly and calls my name when the orgasm hits him, and his seed flows into me.

  Buckley doesn’t have to tell me to swallow; I eagerly lap up every damn drop.

  “Fuck me,” he grits out as his cum streams into me, again and again, until he’s utterly spent.

  When he’s finished, I clean him up completely. He lets go of my hair and falls backward onto the bed, breathing heavily, sighing my name.

  I caress his thighs, his hips, massaging his muscles and kissing his residual limb.

  I kiss my way tenderly up his entire body until I reach his face to tell him, “Your cock is still pretty.”

  “Dirty girl,” he huffs, and wraps me up in a hug and slap my ass.

  “You love it,” I tease.

  “No, I love you, Senator.”

  Epilogue

  Ten years later

  Buckley

  “So,” Daphne says, unbuttoning the First Man’s tuxedo shirt after the final inaugural ball, “What’s your special cause going to be for the next four years?”

  I help speed things along by dropping my pants. “How about the art of seducing really uptight politicians?”

  “Buckley, that’s not funny.” The newly sworn in president slaps her First Man on the ass. I really like the sound of that title.

  “You were supposed to be thinking about this. The ladies on The View are having you on tomorrow,” she reminds me.

  “OK, how about ‘adopt, don’t shop,” I offer, tossing my briefs aside.

  I start to work at tugging at the zipper of my wife’s designer ball gown down.

  She’s now almost 60, but she’s still got the tightest little body I’ve ever seen.

  “You mean rescue dogs? I like it. What made you choose that?” She asks me.

  I finally manage to get her dress off of her, only to see an elaborate long-line underwire bra and shaping underwear and stockings.

  This is going to take a while, I think.

  I look into her eyes, and I see the truth.

  My woman is exhausted.

  Of course she is. And all I can think about is putting it in her. I’m such an asshole.

  “Lie down,” i tell her. “Let me get you ready for bed, baby.”

  “Perfect,” says President Featherstone. “It’s been a long day.”

  I scoop up my wife and finish undressing her while she lies on the bed. She nearly drifts off to sleep while I remove her stockings, under garments and replace everything with a set of cozy satin pajamas.

  She sighs. “Hmm. That’s better.”

  “It’s about to get even better,” I say.

  “Oh baby I can’t right now.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” I reply.

  Just then, there’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” I call out.

  Daphne groans. “Not now... I can’t...”

  The door opens and one of my personal aides comes in with a huge grin on her face. In her arms is a tiny, grunting little furry creature.

  “Hmm,” she says dreamily. “What is it, babe?”

  I get up and take the writhing little puppy and thank the aide, who gives me a thumbs up and leaves us alone.

  I slides up behind my wife and curve one arm around the president’s belly.

  “Someone wants to meet you,” I say.

  The tiny wet nose startles her and suddenly my wife is wide awake.

  She sits up in bed and squeals like a little girl.

  Correction, it’s a very sexy, presidential squeal.

  “Whose puppy is this?”

  I laugh. “It’s yours. Ours. Meet the First Dog.”

  Daphne’s eyes well up with tears and she covers her mouth to hold back a sob.

  “She’s a border collie mix, I think,” I say, explaining that she came from a local rescue group.

  “Whatever possessed you...” she croaks, laughing and nearly crying at the same time. “Oh my god, she’s adorable.”

  “Daphne I can’t give you much. I came to you broken and nearly homeless. The fact that you let me stand next to you these past ten years is more than I could ever dreamed of. And right now I can barely contain the love I have for you.”

  “Are you sad I never gave you children?” she asks.

  “Hell, no. You gave me something even better. You gave me something to believe in,” I say.

  She wipes a tear away and scratches the puppy’s belly. “Buckley, I wouldn’t be here in the White House if it weren’t for you. I nearly gave up on myself half a dozen times.”

  “A wise woman once taught me that it’s OK to take a break and let someone else believe in you for a few minutes.”

  “You definitely helped. And now I have everything and a puppy too!”

  What are you going to name her?”

  My Daphne is so happy she can barely talk. “Omelette, of course!” She says, laughing as the little brown puppy licks and nips at her fingers, arms, face.

  Omelette, the First Dog, licks her mistress’s and master’s faces in approval, and then proceeds to fall asleep between us in the bed.

  “Uh oh,” Daph says. “She’s claiming her spot.”

  I sigh and smile as I pet the hair of both my girls until they fall asleep.

  “It’s gonna be a good eight years,” I assure them both.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Abby Knox lives a dual life. Fantasy Abby would love to live on a farm with goats, bees, chickens, donkeys and alpaca, making her own soap, yarn, honey and cheese. Reality Abby has no desire to do actual farm work. So, the ever-pragmatic Reality Abby keeps Fantasy Abby happy by putting her into adorable little works of romantic fiction with her pretend hobbies. Both Abbies hope you enjoy her sweet, sexy — sometimes a little over the top and weird — storytelling.

  Keep up with the latest news with Abby’s newsletter!

  Say hello at

  authorabbyknox@gmail.com

  Also by Abby Knox

  Naughty Irish Heart (a stand-alone Saint Patrick’s Day Romance, part of a four-author themed collection!)

  Sweet Jane

  (An amnesia story about being lost, and then found.)

  The Christmas Pickup (a stand-alone holiday short read!)

  Saved for Me

  (a special Holidays with Alexa Riley story)

  Matched for Me

  (the last of the For Me series: don’t forget to check out the first two, by the unbeatable Alexa Riley: Hungry for More and Naughty or Nice!)

  The Windy City Holiday Duet

  Pumpkin and Spice

  Comfort and Joy

  From the Small-Town Bachelor Romance Series

  (each can be read as a stand-alone, but if you want to read in order … this is the order)

  Take Me Home

  Game Face

  Written in the Stars, a special Christmas edition

  Walk With Me

&
nbsp; Stay the Night

  (MORE STBR stories COMING SOON … YES!)

  Off-Season Stud (a quick, OTT vacation stand-alone)

  His Vinyl Vixen (a stand alone for the rock ’n’ roll nerd in all of us)

  The Sisters of Enchantment series

  Some Basic Witch

  Witch, Please!

  Her Big Easy Wedding (a quirky, smutty, five book shifter bundle!)

  Coming soon…

  an excerpt from Abby’s as-yet-untitled short read coming this spring!

  My heart feels like it’s catching fire when I turn the corner from the kitchen to see the gilded Louis XIV chair floating in mid-air.

  “I told y’all, that is Ms. Lacey’s chair. It stays. Everything else goes,” I pronounce.

  The estate sale crew apologizes, and sets down the ornate antique chair with the royal blue cushions. They take orders from me like I’m the Queen of England.

  As well they should; I am the sole beneficiary of one Ms. Lacey Bell, and I aim to live up to the responsiblity of that role and all it entails.

  The late Lacey Bell had been one of the world’s most honored and beloved poets and authors. I, Edie Mays, had loved the woman’s vividly illustrated children’s books froma very young age. Those books always featured main characters who were little girls who looked a lot like me.

  I loved her books so much that when I was eight years old, I wrote a heartfelt letter to the reclusive author. To my utter disbelief and elation, Lacey wrote me back.

  And so began a lifelong friendship via handwritten letters between me and Lacey, from two separate corners of the country.

  When Lacey was no longer able to continue writing, I had traveled across the country to visit my aging hero. To my surprise, Lacey asked me to help her pen one final book.

  I stayed with the old woman, who never had children, until she passed into the next life.