She pulls her foot away, frowning. “That may be true—”
“—It is true! Which means we need to put into place a system that protects the ignorant. They’re too scared to look, so we have to look out for them. Maybe someone will start a revolution! It’s been done before. I’d welcome it! Until then, if term limits were installed it would force Senators to do more.”
I’ve stopped massaging.
“I’m just saying, there’s a reason our impending death inspires us to take action. I’m going to die someday, so I’d better do this now. I have to try before I die. I have to visit such-and-such place before I kick the bucket. I need to tell so-and-so I love them while I still have the chance. That sense of immediacy compels us to act. If a Senator knew he or she only had two terms at most, they would make damn fucking sure they’d left their mark before they go.”
“And you don’t think they’re doing that?”
“No! They’re lazy. We the People have to light a fire under our government’s ass and tell them it’s time for things to change for the good of us all. We need term limits set for everyone elected so that fresh blood can take over with new ideas about what people need now. Not what they used to need, or what the government needs to cushion their pockets, but what we as a country, need.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and rise up.
“Where are you going?” she asks, slipping her heels back on.
“To take a walk.”
Justin
After this nomination is announced I’ll travel all over Georgia meeting people who don’t yet know my name, teaching them what I stand for and what I offer. If I win this race I’ll be the youngest Georgian Senator since William Wyatt Bibb served our great state from 1813-1814.
I would have liked to have met the man.
But I’m not doing this for status or a place in history — I’m doing this because I give a shit and I believe we deserve better than what they give us.
This plane has a bathroom in the middle where I find space to calm down. There’s a small galley where the flight attendants put together drink carts for Coach class. Right now the attendants are convening in the back of the plane, probably gossiping about which passenger is the biggest pain in the ass.
I have the place to myself.
Or I did.
“You got upset.”
Turning to Lady Jameson I steel my eyes at her beauty, glancing to her heels. “How tall are you without those?”
“Why?”
“You have to fight me on everything?”
She smiles. “I’m five-seven.”
“I’m in politics,” I blurt, trying not to kiss her.
She holds my eyes and says simply, “Oh.”
“You have strong opinions on it.”
“I’m just not sure I agree with you.”
“No, you are sure you don’t agree with me. Just say it. Don’t beat around it.”
A shadow drifts over her already dark eyes. “I have strong opinions about it, you’re right. But you know what they say, you should never talk about money, politics, or sex.”
On an angry chuckle I say, “The only things worth talking about, and society duct-tapes our lips shut with political correctness. Who said that, and why? Because it stirs up arguments? What’s wrong with disagreeing? We should be talking about money. More people would learn about personal finance if we shared information. Less people would choose fucked-up credit cards that suck us dry, and learn why a Roth IRA is better long term than a simple IRA.”
“Justin, I think it’s so people can have polite dinner parties and not be afraid of someone firing up…like you are now.”
We stare at each other and I shake my shoulders out. “Polite can kiss my ass.”
Lady Jameson lights up with a stifled laugh. “You’re pretty funny when you get mad.”
A grin itches to get out of me, but I fight the fucker into submission. “Oh yeah? I’m not amused.”
Stepping closer, she slides her hands up my shirt, neck, and around the back of my head to lace her fingers in my hair. I lean down and kiss her, my hands splayed on her upper and lower back as I grip her to my body. I unlock her jaw with mine and seek out her tongue, loving how good she tastes. She kisses like she speaks my language. Grabbing the lavatory door, I jog my chin to it and mouth, “Get in!”
Shaking her head in surprise she mouths, “No!”
I mouth back, “Is that a yes?”
She nods and squeezes in behind me. I lock the door, picturing that red ‘occupied’ light glowing on the other side.
The lid is down. Thank God. We don’t need to deal with that right now.
I grab a paper towel and dry off the sink her back is about to rest against.
As I clean up she slips her hand hungrily over my crotch, rubbing me. I can’t wait to be inside her again. Seeing her cum made me so fucking hard.
She tugs my cock through my pants, making me groan and sway.
“I have to fuck you,” I growl, grabbing her thigh and setting her high heel on the lid so that her legs are open for me.
“Me too,” she moans as I rake my fingernails up the inside of her leg, cupping her pussy through her damp panties and giving it a good rub. She moans, her eyelids lowering with need. She grabs and turns my head to whisper in my ear. “Enough with the hands. I want your whole shaft.” Then she licks it.
“Oh fuck yes,” I moan.
Unzipping my pants she reaches in to grab my length. Tearing open a condom I slap it on.
My tongue dances with hers as I pull her panties to the side and dive into her, burying my cock to the hilt. She moans, “Justin,” and shivers overtake my lungs. Despite the fact that we’re cramped in this small space we’re both loving every second of it.
She moves when I move.
Her hips arch when mine arch.
She fucks me back.
We’re violently pounding each other.
Kissing hard and deep.
Biting necks and tongues.
Clawing into clothing we wish wasn’t here.
I groan into her moaning lips, “I feel how close you are and it’s turning me on.”
That sensual wince.
The impending climax haunting her eyes.
The yearning there.
Harder…faster…hungrier.
I slam my mouth onto hers, finding her tongue as receptive as I need it to be. We cum together, our moaning muffled by our joined mouths. Her leg is shaking so I lift and hold it as her pussy clenches around my cock in sweet, hard, pounding contractions.
As she cums I whisper in her ear, “Remember when I said I do things to serve myself?”
“Uh huh,” she pants.
“Looks like that foot massage worked out how I wanted it to.”
She grins and kisses my neck, meeting my eyes to whisper, “You’re a real jerk, you know that?”
I kiss her into silence. I love the way her fingers feel when they lace into my hair like this. And I really could kiss her forever. The way our mouths move together, the world disappears.
My cock is still buried inside her body as I search her eyes. “It’s good you didn’t tell me your name.”
She frowns, eyes flitting to my lips like she wasn’t done kissing me. “Why’s that?”
“Because I’m not the coatrack to throw your hat on. Unlike my brothers, I won’t go down the aisle. It’s not my style to settle down with one woman, and I certainly don’t believe in marriage. And I’ve got good reason for that.”
Her lips clamp shut in surprise. She stares at me a moment and then tilts her head. “You think I don’t know this? Have I given you any indication I want anything from you?”
“No.”
“Then shut up.”
A grin flashes on my face and I kiss her, but she pulls away from it. “No. It’s too cramped in here. Let’s go.”
Now it’s my turn to be surprised. I force her to look at me. “I was just warning you.”
“No, you w
ere just stroking your ego, that’s what you were doing.” She moves to separate our bodies.
Over the loud speaker the pilot picks the worst time to interrupt. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re beginning our descent into Atlanta where it’s a warm seventy-five degrees.”
“It’s chilly in here,” I mutter, zipping up my pants and unlocking the door to head back to my seat.
She stays in the bathroom, closes the door and leaves me ironically walking down the aisle alone.
As I buckle up, the big-titted flight attendant returns with a smile I’ve seen before, thousands of times on thousands of female faces. She sensually lays her hand on the seat in front of me and purrs, “Where’s your wife?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Go.”
She straightens up and hurries away.
Jaimie
Awkward is an understatement for how we part ways after our plane lands in Atlanta. Neither of us attempts to leave together, but of course we both must go to baggage claim. We walk separately to the tram but when someone’s small suitcase drops and needs to be lifted, I have no choice but to slow down with all the other cattle. That plants me next to the insanely egotistical man I just joined the Mile High Club with and who, while still inside me, told me not to hang my hat on him.
Our footsteps align as though we’re together.
“Well, hello,” I mutter to break the tension.
“Funny seeing you here,” he grumbles. “Watch out.” He grabs my elbow and guides me away from running into a small child.
“My hero.”
He dryly says, “That’s me.”
Continuing along with the cramped herd it becomes impossible to separate without a good reason. Without one would be blatantly rude. I fake a call coming in so I can slow down to opt for the tramcar behind his. “Excuse me. Nice meeting you.”
A frown dashes onto his handsome face and he nods once. “You, too.”
With a silent phone to my ear I say, “Hello?” to nobody, and push through the crowd, making it just before the doors close. Everyone grabs onto something to stay stable when the tram bursts into action. I glance through the small window into his car. He’s staring forward, like everyone else. His body sways with the train’s swift movement, but Justin isn’t holding a strap or bar. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets and he looks pissed. Women of all colors and ages take a second and third peek at him.
“Is it really as hot as they say it is in Atlanta?” a male voice asks from my right.
I blink to him. “Excuse me?”
“Hotlanta…isn’t that what they call it?”
I shrug a little. “No, I think they call it that because the city is so hot.” Off his confused look I explain, “What with the movie business moving in to make films there. I mean…here. It’s hot as in popular.”
He looks toward the doors as they swoosh open and a warm-blooded avalanche of passengers releases. I join the herd. Justin’s blonde head is a few people in front of me.
His slow gait forces mine to slow, and then bodies fan out to the baggage carousels.
Now I have a better view of Justin’s straight posture, his broad, straight shoulders, and the bump of his perfect ass.
“Handsome, isn’t he?”
Glancing over I discover an older woman walking in step with me. She’s dressed upscale, gray hair cut short. “Justin Cocker?” she offers, motioning toward him with her chin.
“I don’t know him,” I lie.
“Well you will,” she smiles, eyeing Justin. “They say he’s running for Senator this election.”
My mouth goes dry. “That can’t be right.”
“Yes, wouldn’t that be something! He means to challenge, oh, what’s our current Senator’s name?”
“Senator Rothdale.” I choke, “Are you sure?”
“It hasn’t been announced yet, but that is the rumor. That Cocker family, they’ve been in politics for over a century. I think he has quite the shot. His father is a congressman, you know.”
“You don’t say,” I mutter, knowing full well who Congressman Cocker is.
Justin takes a post nearest the end where the bags will appear first. I wouldn’t have expected him to choose anywhere else to stand.
She rolls her eyes with appreciation. “His father! Mercy, what a stunner. Michael Cocker can put his shoes under my bed anytime! More my age. But that one.” She points to Justin, who thankfully has his back to us. “That leaf hasn’t fallen far from the tree.” She heads away, leaving me reeling.
Justin…running for Senate?
God, I hope she’s wrong about that.
The belt begins to move and soon bags thump heavily onto the ramp, inching their way by the passengers. I stand far down on the same side as Justin so that there’s plenty of distance between us. I’ll have to roll my bag a little farther, but so what?
I can’t believe this.
He can’t be running for Senate!
Staring forward I bite my lip to pieces. When his voice interrupts my solitude I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Whoa,” he chuckles, throwing up one hand like he’s unarmed. “Where were you?”
“Lost in thought. Can I help you?”
His gorgeous green eyes lose all their familiarity and warmth. “Nope. Was just going to…never mind. Forget it.” He turns and walks away, leaving me blinking at his exit, feeling like a terrible person.
Pulling out my phone I make a call.
“Senator Rothdale’s office.”
“Hi LeeAnne, is my father there?”
“Oh, Jaimie! Hi! Yes, the senator is in. Hold just a moment.”
Justin lifts his bag from the moving belt.
“How’s my baby girl doing? How was your flight?”
“I’m not a baby anymore, Dad. The flight was…interesting. Did you send a car?”
“Of course I did. Is he not waiting for you? LeeAnne! You sent Jaimie a car to Hartsfield-Jackson, didn’t you?” In the background I hear her swear she did.
Before he disappears Justin turns and holds my gaze a moment. I don’t look away. Not even after he’s gone.
“Jaimie?” my father asks.
“What? No, Dad. I haven’t gone out there yet. I’m sure he’s waiting.” Spotting my bag inching toward me I mutter, “I have to grab my suitcase. I’ll call you if I get lost.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to pick you up myself.”
I don’t know why he’s even saying that. He always sends a driver.
I hang up to chase my suitcase down the belt around people who won’t move. The woman who told me about Justin running for Senate yanks it off the carousel. “I saw him talking to you,” she offers with a smile that begs for more information.
“He wanted to know the time. Thanks for my suitcase.”
“He’s wearing a watch.”
“It broke. They do that. Things break. Have a great day,” I smile, rolling five day’s worth of clothing toward the exit. My boxes will come before that time is up, one hopes.
When the sunlight hits my face outside I search for Justin, but he’s gone. Only unfamiliar faces surround me now.
A man who is standing by a black Chrysler 300 sedan calls out, “Ms. Rothdale!”
I nod and head toward him, extremely glad that Justin Cocker — future opponent — wasn’t around to hear that.
Jaimie
Grey eyebrows knit together as my father opens a bottle of Malbec hand-selected from the cellar he installed in a basement below where we stand. It’s a gorgeous room that maintains the perfect 55˚ temperature ideal for storing a collection of his quality. It’s the type of room that when you see it, you want it.
“Well, I don’t see why you don’t just live here with me. I have the space.”
“Because grown women don’t live with their fathers.”
“I’ve got five bedrooms and only me living here!” he grumbles, strolling away to grab two glasses.
“What about Maggie and Joe?”
“My maid and bodyguard don’t count!”
“Well, that leaves two extra rooms for guests. Isn’t that lovely?”
He exhales, “Jaimie…” loudly while pouring the wine, then hands me my glass with an impatient gleam behind hazel eyes.
“Dad, I’m working with you as it is on your campaign. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other. Too much, probably. And I really need you to stop acting like I’m the one who abandoned you.”
Oops. Didn’t mean to say that.
His glass freezes before it touches mine. “There it is again.” He draws his arm back.
“Dad.”
“You chose to stay with your mother.”
Rolling my eyes, I remind him, “I stayed with you for ten months, Dad. An entire school year and part of the following summer. I tried. But the entire time I lived with you I saw you all of three weeks!”
“You know how much I travel for work!”
“And how much your woman of the moment holds your attention far more than your daughter ever could!”
His voice adopts that magnanimous tone he’s so good at employing during moments when he’s wrong, such as this one. “Did you expect me to remain single after your mother and I didn’t work out?”
Struggling for patience I grate, “That’s not the point and you know it. There were many visits where it was like I wasn’t even here! But you always made time for them.”
“That’s not true.”
“Remember when I visited after my heart got broken by David?” Off Dad’s confused look and lack of recognition, I sigh. “My first love, Dad. His name was David and you don’t even remember that important detail of my life. I came here after we broke up, because I wanted to be with my Daddy and you were with that woman I hated – the one you were married to for all of two years.”
Taking a small sip, he offers, “I didn’t know you hated any of my wives.”
With an ironic chuckle I continue, not whining, just saying it like it is. “Anyway, it was your sixmonthaversary or some such nonsense that doesn’t even exist, and you left me here alone for my whole three-day trip. Alone and heartbroken. It was a blast. I had such a good time.”
Cocky Senator's Daughter: Hannah Cocker (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 8) Page 23