“I thought you liked her,” I state when she’s been abnormally silent.
She sighs, “I like that she’s going to help you––”
“Oh yes, and let’s not forget she’s here because of you in the first place.”
“I know, I do like her and if she does what she says she’s going to, I’ll damn near love her…but you need to keep your head clear. I see how day-dreamy you get when she’s around.”
“Oh, come on,” I laugh. “You’re nuts,” I shake my head.
“I’m not Jake,” she says and her voice drops, causing me to stop laughing and to look at her.
Her face is almost sad, her eyes looking at me hopefully or something, like she wants me to firmly deny it…but why?
“She’s attractive, I mean come on.”
I watch Ella swallow thickly; blinking down before she nods slightly and turns her attention to her phone. I unlock my cell and my thumb swipes past emails, missed texts and calls. Going straight to my contacts and the information Ella put in yesterday for Cassie.
JR: We might not get to eat bbq on the road, but Montana has some amazing bison you have to try.
Chapter 5
Cassie
Kicking my heels off before picking them up with one hand, I’ve decided that running the twenty or so half-flights of stairs, up the ten floors to my room is an apt punishment for whatever that was at breakfast. The concentrated heat between my thighs and the achingly tight points of my nipples are a glaring reminder of just how much I’d liked watching Jake while Jake was watching me. With no one else in the stairwell with me, I also use the time to give myself a verbal lecture.
“What the hell was that Cassie?” I shout. “Get your flirty shit under control!”
I never flirt with clients. Have never dated one either, not even after we had finished working together. That said, Jake is the first client I’ve worked with that I find myself having less than professional thoughts about, but still. I know I have a vibrant, bubbly personality, and this comes across when I work with people, but what went on at breakfast was flirting. Flirting with a capital – God, I’d bet he knows how to properly fuck a woman – F. It wasn’t overt, it was good natured and harmless, but I’m not even going to try and lie to myself that the number of times I’d touched the gold emblem at my throat was for any other reason than I’d enjoyed the way Jake’s eyes were drawn there when I did.
Since being in his arms yesterday, albeit by accident, it’s like the sparks of attraction I’d felt towards him have been hit with a damn flame-thrower. Dangerous to my libido, he’s quickly becoming my kryptonite, and my resolve weakens whenever I’m in his presence.
Reaching my floor, I yank open the door out of the stairwell and jog down the corridor to my room. Scared that if I slow down now, I’ll do something stupid, like text Jake my room number and tell him there’s a key waiting for him at the concierge. Lust and adrenaline have my hand shaking so much my fingers keep fumbling the card to my hotel room door. After the third attempt, I let out a frustrated growl, just as the card slips in and the asshole of a red light turns green.
Dropping my shoes and putting my planner, phone and room key down on the desk, I begin impatiently stripping off my clothes and head into the bathroom for the second time this morning. At the rate I’m going, when it comes time to check out of this hotel, the detachable showerhead will sigh with relief.
* * *
Feeling much more in control and ready to focus on work, I pick up my phone and find that I have a text from Jake.
JR: We might not get to eat bbq on the road, but Montana has some amazing bison you have to try.
I can’t stop the goofy smile from forming on my face, or stop my brain whispering to me to reply with, ‘I know what I’d like you to eat on the road’, which in turn makes me roll my eyes. Stop Cassie, just stop, be professional.
CA: I’ve never eaten bison. If you say it’s good, I’ll give it a try.
He replies immediately.
JR: It is. No Bull.
I bark out a laugh, my thumbs flying over the touchscreen keypad.
CA: Congressman and comedian. I’m impressed. Just how many hidden talents do you have Jake, and will I get to see them?
The moment I press send, I want to pull it back. “OMFG, Cassie!” I whisper-shout, then groan and put a hand over my mouth. Clearly I didn’t listen to a word I’d said during my lecture about dialing back the flirt factor. What is it about this particular guy that brings it out in me? I’m holding my breath, watching my screen as Jake types his reply. Maybe Jake won’t pick up on the flirty tone? Yeah, right. Maybe he’ll politely ignore it and respond like a professional? That’s more likely. Then the dots disappear. Then they start up again. Seems like he’s having second thoughts about how to reply. Maybe he won’t? More importantly, why am I disappointed at the thought?
My eyes are glued to the screen of my phone, so when it rings in my hand with an incoming call, I yell out and all but throw it over my shoulder with surprise.
“Cassie Argent,” I say answering, trying somewhat successfully to get my galloping heart back under control.
“Ms. Argent, it’s John from D.C. Coaches. I just wanted to confirm that I’ve heard from the congressman’s office and everything has been finalized. You’re on track to depart day after tomorrow.”
“Excellent John. Thanks again, I really appreciate you being able to work in with our last minute schedule. I’m eager to get the Congressman on the road.” Way too eager I think to myself, but naturally I don’t say that.
Feeling and hearing my phone has received an incoming message, I’m eager find out if it’s Jake, so I’m sure I rush the poor coach line manager off the phone.
Opening my message thread with Jake, my heart skips as I read his words.
JR: Plenty. And I’ve got two weeks to show you as many as you think you can handle.
* * *
Everything is set for our departure. Two coaches, two drivers per coach, a small but scrappy press pool and the Congressman’s staff. There’s a loose schedule of events, all of them changeable, and the team back at ESM are still looking for more. Along the way, we’ll have a couple of people set to join us on the bus for a short leg of the trip. Phone interviews with local papers, a Facebook live chat, and a Skype interview; all of these would take place on the bus between events as we travelled from one town, city and state to another. It’s going to be hectic, but it’s going to be fun.
One person joining us at the halfway point I’m quietly excited about. His name, or handle, for want of a better word, is PoloTix. A 21-year-old, bright-as-a-spark, college student, his sarcastic-political satire themed blog has a massive following among eighteen to thirty-year-olds. As do his Twitter and Instagram feeds. He’s non-conforming, straight to the point and witty as hell. Best of all, he’s the complete opposite of a political reporter. Even though there is a risk that he’ll harpoon Jake if things don’t go well, a harpoon from this guy is still a battle scar you wear with pride.
I’d suggested Jake notify each congressmen of the states we were passing through about the trip, a professional courtesy more than anything. For the most part, there had been no push back or concern, but also very little interest. I think that alone bummed Jake out for a while. He got his fire back on the last call though, when one of the longer serving congressman he was speaking with actually laughed derisively before commenting, “Oh, to be so young and optimistic. You’ll shake that green off you one day boy-o.”
At the time I was again working at the table in Jake’s office, hearing for myself the condescension in the comment as it came through the speakerphone on his desk. I’d watched in admiration as Jake’s body language changed, his spine straightening in his leather chair, and I knew that the jaded old coot had just provided him yet another reason to want to be better at this job than those he was currently working with.
I’m glad to be back at my hotel after the final meeting before we leave. A mee
ting I might add where Ella had flipped and flopped between being completely on board whenever Jake spoke, to being lukewarm and at times belittling whenever I had. I’d let her comment at breakfast yesterday morning about pie eating contests slide. I know my methods can seem unorthodox, so jumping on people when they don’t understand what I’m trying to do can be counterproductive. Again, in the interest of letting the results speak for themselves, I’d kept my cool and the conversation moving.
Jake and I carried on throughout the meeting as if our text conversation this morning hadn’t happened. This didn’t bother me at all, as I had no intention of bringing it up either. Mostly out of fear that flirty Cassie would show up and make a run at him. Other than suffering more than a few lapses of wandering eye syndrome, both Jake and I had been completely professional.
Kicking off my heels, I pad over to the mini bar and pour myself a vodka rocks before heading over to the sofa. Putting the crystal tumbler and my phone on the end table next to me, I sit down, tucking my legs under my ass and turn on the television. Coming across the movie, ‘Forgetting Sarah Marshall’, I stop surfing, put the remote down and pick up my drink. I can’t really be bothered doing anything about dinner, the thought of going out again unappealing. After a few sips of my drink an idea strikes me, so I pick up my phone, open my message app and type out a text to Jake.
CA: One foodie to another, where’s good to eat? Keep in mind, I’m tired and not overly hungry – so think close to my hotel, fast service and small serves.
JR: Hmmm. Allergies?
CA: None.
JR: Dietary Restrictions?
CA: Nope.
JR: Dislikes?
CA: I dislike that I thought you’d make it easier for me to decide where to eat, but seems I was wrong. Does that count? *wink face emoji*
Shit, I did it again. Why did I bring the sass and add the winking face? We were having a perfectly respectable conversation about food, and it could’ve stayed that way.
JR: LOL. Smartass. I’m narrowing it down so my suggestion of what you put in your mouth is exactly what you’re after.
Wow.
Now he went there.
Seems we’re a bad influence on each other. Or perfect together.
No, rein it in Cass.
CA: Anyway, I’m one vodka down, so if you take too much longer, it’ll be room service only.
Putting my phone down having hit the little blue send arrow, I go to take another sip of my cocktail finding that my glass is empty. Hopping up to refill my drink, I return to find Jake’s response.
JR: The room service at the Jefferson is actually pretty good.
Sucking an ice-cube into my mouth, I’m crunching it as my thumbs tap out my reply.
CA: Ok, my shoes are staying off.
JR: Just your shoes?
Really, Jake? Don’t take the set up Cassie, don’t you do it…
CA: For now. As soon as I order though, I’ll jump in the shower.
You just had to mention the shower didn’t you…
JR: Ummm. What were we talking about?
CA: Food Jake. Just food.
JR: Right. Order the dry aged sirloin burger.
CA: Ooh, that sounds good. Ordering now.
JR: Text me when you’ve finished, I want to know how it was.
CA: My shower?
Jesus, I’m like an out of control freight train. That’s it, no more vodka.
JR: The burger. Just food Cassie, remember?
CA: Oops. LOL. I’ll be back in a bit.
Jake was right, the burger was amazing and exactly what I wanted. Well, technically it wasn’t exactly what I’d wanted. What I wanted was not on the room service menu, at least not in a hotel like this.
Jumping into bed, I pick up my phone to text Jake. I said I’d get back to him, so I remind myself to just thank him for suggesting the burger and say goodnight. Of course, because it’s us, that’s not what happens.
At some point during our conversation about the best burgers we’d ever eaten, I start thinking about where Jake is while he texts me. Is he texting from his sofa? Or like me, is he in bed? I groan thinking about how his sheets would smell, like warm Jake and that woodsy scent he wears. I don’t know what it is, but it’s like catnip for my nipples. Just the memory of it alone has them puckering into needy points beneath my tank. Sending a reply to his last message, I’m thinking about what it would be like to be rolling around in his linen, completely naked and getting that maddening scent all over my skin. My thighs squeeze together, my sex becoming desperate for friction. Thinking about Jake being in the bed with me, our bodies moving together, has one of my hands finding it’s way inside my pink pajama shorts. With just the tip of my middle finger, I lightly graze over the top of my clit, up and back, then running in a slow circle all around. It’s a gentle, barely there movement that feels incredible against my slick flesh, so I repeat the erotic pattern, widening my thighs and lifting my hips towards my own touch. I feel the moisture in my pussy collecting, the sweet feminine scent filling my nostrils. As eager as I am for my fingers to explore lower, to tease between my soaked folds before pushing their way inside, I make myself wait.
My free hand holds my phone, leaving me to text with only my thumb. The topic of discussion is the merits of onion rings vs. french fries, but my mind is wondering if Jake is touching himself like I am. Is he stroking what I imagine is a perfect cock, proud and hard enough to drive nails? I imagine it sprouts from a thatch of closely trimmed dark hair, with a bulbous head that’s deeply colored from his arousal. He’d be gripping himself in tight, milking strokes, from root to tip and back again. I lick my lips, thoughts turning to the little drops of man-jam that would’ve leaked out, and I’m desperate to taste him on my tongue. Hitting send on the message I’ve just typed, I increase the pace and pressure of the finger on my swollen bud. Building to more of a flicking rhythm, I stop to drop three fingers between my folds, easily collecting moisture before bringing them up to coat and massage my needy clit. My orgasm rushes forward, but I don’t want to come yet, I want to draw it out. Switching back to a single finger, I resume to flick then swirl, my thighs wide, my hips restless, as I let my phone drop to my side. With my now free hand I run my palm hard across the center of my left breast, squeezing my fingers firmly around the soft flesh. Feeling my nipple react to the sudden and intense friction sends a current of raw desire straight into my core and the walls of my sex contract in response. I’m panting, and no longer able to delay, I need to come. I want to fill my empty pussy with Jake’s delicious dick, to have his hips piston his hard into my soft, but for now, one then two of my own fingers will have to do.
As I fall asleep, after having come so hard I’d had to change my sleeping shorts, I have the niggling thought that two weeks on the road with Jake Reid might not be a very good idea after all.
My pussy on the other hand thinks it’s brilliant.
Chapter 6
Jake
I haven’t had sex in, shit how long now…a year? No, that’s how long it’s been since Brooke and I broke up, it was months before things ended that we stopped sleeping together. I thought I’d loved her. Thought that since high school. But when I got elected and moved to D.C. I felt her coming with me was the next step for us as a couple. Something changed in Brooke though, she became someone I didn’t like and could barely tolerate being around. Or maybe she’d always been that way and her behavior was only amplified when we moved somewhere and only knew each other. She was interested in the superficial life, not what I was really there to achieve. I found myself not rushing to get home after work, staying late and hoping she’d be asleep by the time I got there. That turned into sleeping in my office. She barely noticed or questioned my absence and I wondered why she even came with me to begin with. I didn’t miss the sex, but I missed the closeness of being with someone and that’s what I’ve missed for over a year now. Jerking off is great, but my hand isn’t really a cuddler.
It felt good to
flirt with Cassie. She stimulated my brain with our texts, and my cock too. Every time I was alone and we’d start talking, I’d get hard immediately. I wanted to tell her I was, wanted to read her reaction. Better yet, I wanted to see her face when she read my words. I wondered if her cheeks would flush, if her pussy would tighten with the idea of my cock. I know the idea of said pussy made my cock perk up. More importantly, it relieved me that when we’d see each other after a night of texting, she was normal acting toward me. She wasn’t making shit obvious. But hell, even if she was, I was into her so much I doubt I’d really care.
CA: What are you wearing?
I pull a face and reread the text, bringing the phone closer to make sure I read the words right.
JR: Clarify.
I watch as the three little dots jump in order as she replies and a huge part of me hopes this is going where I want it to, and we finally break through the flirting and get to the dirty. God, I’m a pig.
CA: Today, we don’t have anything planned so I wasn’t sure if it was casual attire or business.
JR: Oh good, I was worried, I’m just in a towel now…what do you want to wear?
Of course I had to throw the towel comment in, it wouldn’t be a conversation between us without it.
CA: I’d like to wear jeans, but I can wear more appropriate clothing if necessary.
I know what I’d like her to be wearing, nothing.
JR: I’ll wear jeans too, we can get in trouble with Ella together…what else would you like me to wear?
Again, the three dots jump as she types and I try to ignore the growing erection beneath the towel.
CA: Whatever you want, surprise me.
I settle on faded jeans and a definitely well loved and worn ‘Foo Fighters’ concert t-shirt. Grabbing my luggage, phone and wallet, I lock up my townhouse and head down to the town car waiting for me. The driver puts my bags into the trunk as I settle in and we ride to the parking lot where the buses are parked. When we arrive, there’s a flurry of activity. The buses, people all around them and I take my own luggage as I walk up to the main bus at the head of the line. As soon as I walk around toward everyone, immediately Ella sees me and does a double take. She’s wearing her usual work attire and gives me a disapproving look as she walks over.
Act of Congress Page 4