The Sweet Thief

by Temple Madison

  “Oh, god,” he whispered as her body moved against his. Because the need to wound her had seized him, he opened his mouth onto her soft, fragrant skin and drew her essence into his hungry mouth. He didn’t realize what he was doing until he heard her shout out in pain.

  He looked down and saw his ugly red tooth marks on the roundness of her cleavage, and for some reason, he experienced rage. He brought his hand back and hit her, but instead of making her angry, it excited her, and she moaned loudly. In her excitement, she bucked against him, turning every fiber of his being to fire. Why he didn’t explode he didn’t know. His cock became so hard it strained against his trousers begging to be free. “Don’t you ever think about Lorelei, and what it would do to her if she ever found out about you?”

  She looked up at him with cold, scheming eyes. “Who the hell is Lorelei?”

  A sudden, savage rage filled him. He pulled her toward him with one hand and with the other delivered a stinging slap across her flawless face. When the desire to murder licked at his insides, he brutally pushed her away from him, turned quickly, and ran. He grabbed the doorknob and wrenched it open, causing it to slam against the wall as he left.

  Gabrielle jumped up, rushed to the open door, and looked down the vacant hall. “Harley!” she yelled as loud as she could without someone hearing her.

  One of her seedy-looking photographers opened the door of another room, stepped out, and looked over at her. “My god, what happened to you.”

  “Griff Nyle happened to me,” she said, already planning her next move.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said with a wicked smile. “Just get your camera.”

  Griff had started working nights, or at least giving that excuse so he could avoid Lorelei. He knew she had begun to notice something different about him, and when she tried to bring up the subject, he always managed to sidestep the issue until she gave up. A few days had passed, and things had seemed to get back to normal, but he didn’t dare get comfortable. The minute he did, there’d be another package, another letter, and another photograph.

  He had just finished dinner one evening when he began walking toward the administrative wing. As he approached his office, he stopped suddenly. There, standing in front of his door, was another large package. It looked just like the other one Gabrielle had sent. It was wrapped in the same plain wrapper with no return address, and Griff knew it was from her. He picked it up quickly, then glanced around the dim, shadowy, unguarded space as he opened the door. He quickly placed the package on his desk, turned on the lamp, and began tearing it apart. Inside, he found the shredded outfit she had been wearing the night he tore it off her, along with a picture and a note.

  Hey, lover, you owe me another negligee. I’ll admit that there wasn’t much to it even when it wasn’t torn to shreds, and I realize you don’t let me keep them on very long, but see what you can do, huh? Blue, your favorite color, would be nice. Send it over and I’ll be wearing it the next time I see you. How about Friday night, same time, same place. I’ll be waiting.

  He threw the note down and grabbed the picture of her lying on the couch where it had happened, the bruises and teeth marks in plain sight. He remembered the deep, ugly passion he’d experienced when he made them. And even though they were nothing more than a few telltale marks here and there, she displayed them like trophies that glowed in his eyes like neon. The gown barely covered her, exposing her magnificent body to the camera. When he saw a wet drop fall down on the photo, he realized he had started sweating and had become extremely nervous. He wiped at his face, knowing if this continued he would be a candidate for the funny farm, not to mention breaking up his happy home if Lorelei somehow found out.

  He threw the photo down, hurried into the bathroom, and splashed cold water on his face. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and didn’t recognize himself. He looked drawn and tired, and he was nervous all the time. He was constantly knocking things over, forgetting appointments, and every time he thought about the ugly, degrading situation, it drew a tear from his eyes. He looked up at his hair. It was a wonder it hadn’t turned white. His face still appeared flawless. He had no wrinkles, but his eyes didn’t have the sparkle of happiness they’d once had when he and Lorelei had finally come together. He didn’t hum anymore as he walked around the building. He didn’t wave or keep a smile on his face as he once had. He was sure everyone had noticed his unhappy withdrawal from life.

  The rise and fall of Griff Nyle, he thought as he continued to examine his face in the mirror. If anyone ever writes my story, that’s what they’ll call it, The Rise and—he jerked his head around when he heard something. Quickly stepping to the door, he looked out and saw Lorelei standing at his desk. She held a remnant of the gown in one hand and the picture in the other. She looked up at him. Tears swam in her unhappy eyes.

  Then she fainted.

  Later that evening—

  When the doctor came in with the news that Lorelei was pregnant, Griff’s eyes clouded over, and he lowered his head into his hands as if all the demons of hell were closing in on him.

  “What’s wrong, son?” the senator asked, concerned. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  “Yes... yes, of course, it is,” Griff replied then stood abruptly and raked his fingers through his hair.

  The senator followed Griff with his eyes. “Then what the hell’s the matter? You act like you’ve just been given a death sentence.”

  “Nothing,” Griff spat out sharply. He paced, unsettled and nervous. Wandering over to a window, he looked out onto the protected grounds of the White House.

  How ironic, he thought bitterly, to find out my wife is pregnant the very day my marriage ends.

  He looked up at the star-studded sky and cursed its beauty. With the muscle in his tense jaw clenching, he pounded his hand against the wall, turned, and without saying anything, walked out.

  He moved swiftly as he walked through the corridor on the way to his office. When he arrived, he slumped down in his chair, picked up the phone and ordered a blue negligee.

  He had it sent to the Oakwood—Room 351.

  Chapter Nineteen

  For days afterward, Griff and Lorelei barely spoke. He watched her, trying to figure out just how to approach her and what to say that would make her understand. She stayed in her own world, and if she acknowledged his presence at all, it was with a face as hard as granite. With a few disjointed words, he tried to explain everything, but she had erected a wall around herself that he couldn’t blast away with every bomb in this country’s arsenal. Having lost everything, he felt numb inside. He cared about nothing, but as leader of the country, he was obligated to get up every morning, shave, shower, and make himself presentable, even if his eyes were glazed over with pain. If he hadn’t been forced into the role he was playing, he would have found his way to an ocean and drowned himself.

  That was the day he stopped trying.

  That was the day he abandoned himself to his sin.

  For the next few weeks, he became bitter and put no restraints on his appetite. He felt himself literally drowning in a deep pool of forbidden lust, but since he knew he had lost the one woman he truly loved, he didn’t care and used Gabrielle to satisfy his dark side.

  As the affair continued, slowly everything leaked out, and every paper and every TV station in the country was talking about it. The talk increased around Washington about the other woman in the president’s life. They splashed his picture alongside that of the other woman’s head with the face blanked out. Who was she? That was the question everyone was asking. They promoted her as the ultimate mystery woman. She was his temptress, his mistress, his lover, his harlot. As a result, he cruised around Washington in the dead of night like a criminal, and because he couldn’t afford to be seen, he didn’t take the usual route but had his driver drive through alleyways, along small, narrow streets, and then park the limousine in some dark place and wait as he sneaked up to Gabrielle’s room
. She would greet him with a glass of wine—always wine. He encouraged her to perform for him while he drank the burning liquid. While she danced, he sat watching her bouncing breasts, perfect body, and long, silky legs through a drunken haze. When he was finally drunk enough, he would throw the drink aside and attack her, too aroused to be gentle and too angry to care.

  * * * *

  As time passed, Griff continued his usual ritual of abusive foreplay and rough sex. His hateful words stung her, and his abrasive love hurt her, but she didn’t care. When Griff was so drunk he hardly knew where he was, she would climb on top of him and utter a trembling moan as she sank his rigid cock deep inside herself. The room filled with the spicy smell of his cologne mingled invitingly with their sex. The sweet incense slowly lured them deeper and deeper into its erotic web, and as the bed shook, moans pierced the night shadows. She knew he was now almost completely hers. Meanwhile she wickedly consumed his lips, his chest and his neck, giving him a wild ride all the way to a heaven that after a while would resemble hell.

  All because of her, the angry young president that presented such a bright business-like image during the day rolled around in filth at night.

  * * * *

  The Washington Post was brutal. Columnists who wanted to make names for themselves were having a field day. They called him the bad boy of the White House, a charming rogue, and a sweet thief that stole women’s hearts. They printed articles about his blatant sexual conduct that slapped him in the face every morning until he refused to pick up a paper.

  “A sweet thief? They’re running out of things to call me, aren’t they? And what the hell is a rogue?” Griff shouted, slapping the paper down beside his breakfast plate.

  “A rogue is a scoundrel—a rascal. In your case, it’s a man who can’t keep his goddamned zipper closed.”

  Griff looked up, surprised to see the senator standing in the doorway. “What the hell do you want?”

  “I came by to see how my daughter was feeling.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you sweetheart. Feeling better?”

  “I’m fine, Daddy. Let me pour you some—”

  “The phone’s working, you know,” Griff interrupted.

  “Yes, I know, but I do have the right to see her in person once in a while. I am her father, after all.”

  “I knew I could count on you to come crawling out of the woodwork whenever there’s trouble.”

  “Very good. Spoken like a true rogue,” the senator retorted as he looked down at the paper. Picking it up, he looked at the name of the columnist. “Mmmm,” he began, “Lesley Simms. Sounds like she knows you personally.”

  “If not, she’s the only woman in Washington who doesn’t,” Lorelei spat out, looking at him with cold eyes.

  “Goddamned writers. All they do is sit around all day thinking up words. Why the hell don’t they go out and get themselves an honest job?”

  “The last time I looked, writing was an honest job.” The senator raised his eyes and looked at Griff sarcastically. “You used to think so, too. Back in the good old days when you were the Cary Grant of the political scene. The columnists raved about you.”

  “Speaking of the presidency...”

  The senator looked over at Lorelei. “Did I mention one word about the presidency?”

  Griff slid his eyes toward Lorelei. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe I should run again... try for another four years.”

  Lorelei jumped up and threw her napkin down. “If you do, you’ll have to get another First Lady, because I don’t intend to stay in this prison for another term.”

  “But, Lorelei, you have to. Think of the scandal.”

  “Think of the scandal?” Looking at him with an incredulous frown, Lorelei snickered. “Think of the scandal?” she repeated louder. “After what you’ve done, you’re afraid of a little divorce scandal? My god, it’s been nothing but scandal since before we moved in here. My whole marriage to you has been one scandal after another. I don’t think one more is going to do much one way or the other.”

  “Don’t forget what you contributed.”

  “Sure. I kicked up my heels a little, but only because somebody had to run the country in your absence. At least I knew where to draw the line. At no time did I get mixed up with anyone else, although I had plenty of chances.”

  “Dash Nillson? Does that name ring a bell?”

  “Are you kidding? I can’t begin to compete with you! For one thing, that affair was very short-lived, and I don’t believe one word wound up on the front page of the Post to embarrass our illustrious president.”

  “The Post isn’t the only rag in this city. May I remind you of the tabloids, and the TV news where you became the fuckin’ playgirl of the month. How about the repercussions from that?”

  “What about it?” she cried out as she walked toward the door, but then stopped abruptly, turned, and looked at Griff with blazing eyes. “Mark this down on your calendar, Mr. President. When this term is up, I’m moving out. When I do, you can move that little blonde whore in, or any other piece of trash you take a fancy to. After all, just think of the money the taxpayers will save by not having to buy gas for that goddamned limousine.” She turned and left quickly, slamming the door.

  Senator Bliss looked at Griff. “Do you honestly think you could be elected again after this? Why, son, you couldn’t get yourself elected dogcatcher.”

  “How do you know? You’ve managed to pull me out of situations before. Why is this one so different?”

  “Pull you out?” he repeated, staring at his son-in-law as if he couldn’t believe what he’d said. “Hell fire, Griff, you must think I’m a miracle worker. Moses on his best day couldn’t get you out of this. You’ve got yourself a nice little mess here, so don’t come to me expecting me to part the Red Sea. The truth is, your approval rating has plummeted, and I’m doing everything I can to keep them from impeaching you. Besides, I thought you had changed your mind about another four years.”

  “Well... normally, yes. But it’s the only way I can keep Lorelei.”

  “Griff. Son. How the hell are you gonna keep something that you never really had? At first you didn’t want her, now she doesn’t want you. That little lady is ready to walk out the door, and the only thing that’s keeping her here is being the president’s wife.”

  “That’s just my point. If I’m reelected, she’ll have to stay with me another four years.”

  Indicating toward the door, the senator continued. “You heard what she said. When this term is over, she’s gone, and I don’t think she cares much whether you’re reelected or not.”

  “I know her, Senator. She’s too politically minded to walk out on me. If I came up for another four years, she’d be right there by my side.” He cast a pleading look toward the old man. “I need those four years, Senator.”

  “Why? She’ll just leave when they’re over.”

  “To win her back!” Griff yelled, raking his hands through his hair.

  The senator looked at him for a long moment, and then he asked, “What in god’s name made you do it? Your marriage was perfect. Your life was perfect. Your approval rating was way up, then all of a sudden...” The senator frowned. “What the hell happened? What kind of woman is it that can make a man cut his own throat? A goddess, a seductress, a vamp, a friggin’ femme fatale... what?”

  “Yes,” Griff whispered, casting the senator a distressed look, then lowering his eyes sadly.

  “Yes?” the senator echoed while his thick eyebrows came together in a frown. After a while, with only complete silence surrounding them, the senator’s voice resonated throughout the large room. “I want to know every detail.” He raised his eyes and stared deeply into Griff’s. “And I mean every dirty detail.”

  While rising and sitting, while raking his hands through his hair, and while reliving the deepest and most depraved passion he had ever known, Griff told him everything.

  “Griff, you haven’t given out any classified informa
tion to this woman, have you? Does she question you at all about government secrets and such?”

  “Of course not,” Griff said, becoming uncomfortable. The truth was he wasn’t really sure.

  At first, it was just sex and wine—wine and sex—she was always mixing, mixing, mixing. It was then that a lot of strange things began to happen. He seemed to stay in a state of confusion, the drinks clouding his mind. She was all over him—her lips, her fragrance—and then her body, her hands, her mouth—satisfying both their lusts until he erupted in cries of passion.

  “Well, nothing can undo the damage that’s already been done,” the senator said, then looked at Griff with determination. “But I can make damned sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  The senator walked to the door, and then turned around. “Just leave it to me.”

  “I don’t want her hurt.”

  The senator paused and looked at him with grave, intense eyes that held no promises.

  Griff rushed over to him and grabbed his lapels. “No, goddamned you. I know that look on your face. I don’t want this to turn into one of those political hits. Someone gets in the way and you just rub them out, is that it? Well you can have the goddamned presidency and everything that goes with it! I won’t have her hurt!”

  “My god, you’re in love with this woman.”