by Amy Faye
"Yeah, well…"
"Let me in," he told her. It wasn't exactly a request, but it left room for her to get out of it.
"I shouldn't–I just put Tim down, and…"
"Do you still have a stock of single-malts?"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not in college any more, Paul."
"I know. You graduated after, you know. After we split up."
"Yeah, I did," she said. She looked over his shoulder, at the side-street. He looked himself. There was a car driving by, but it didn't seem to slow or stop, and never paid either of them any attention.
"I didn't ask you about your education. You were always smart. I asked if you had a bottle of single-malt scotch."
A faint smile crossed her face. For a moment, he saw that same young college girl that he'd been so attached to. Then the mother came back out, and he found that he was no less enchanted by it.
"Say I do?"
"I could always use a drink," he said. "I'm terribly thirsty."
She closed her eyes and took a breath. God, he thought. Every little thing she did drew him in. The door opened more, enough to let him in. He stepped through it as she walked away. He watched her, the way her ass moved.
She'd definitely changed in some ways since she was in college. That much was clear. She'd developed into something very different. He was different, too, he knew. His tastes were different, and yet she still fit them perfectly, like a favorite pair of jeans.
"You look good," he said to her. He knew he'd said it before. He knew he'd say it again.
"Thanks, I guess," she answered, pouring a glass. A double, he noted. Then she poured another.
"Here you go." She handed him one of the glasses. Paul took a moment to enjoy the heady aroma of the alcohol before he took some in his mouth. It burned, but more than anything it tasted like nostalgia. Like a relationship that had gotten lost along the way somewhere.
A relationship he hoped to find again, somehow, even after all this time. If she'd let him, at least.
"Why are you really here, Paul?"
He looked at her and leaned his back against the door. What was he supposed to tell her? That he didn't want to go home? Well… fine, that seemed alright after all. He took another drink.
"I'm avoiding Helen."
"You should go see your wife," she told him. "Because I'm not here for you any more, Paul. That's over."
"I know that," he told her. "But I–" Paul let out a long breath. He'd been lying for so long that telling the truth felt wrong. But he wasn't going to win her over with anything less, he knew. And he wasn't going to be able to go on without at least trying to mend this one fence. Not after he'd seen her again.
"Ten years, and I haven't stopped thinking about you. Not once. I don't know what happened, all that time ago. I don't care any more, either. I missed you. I missed us."
Lara's face seemed to be working over-time. She took a deep drink and her face pinched as she swallowed it.
"You should leave," she told him. But there was no force in it.
"I don't care what it is, but I can't go on like this. Not any more. I need something."
"You need what? Some booty call?"
He let out a low breath, the alcohol starting to work its magic on him. "No, but it'll do," he said. He wasn't sure who moved first, but he had to move quickly to set the glass down before his arms wrapped around her body and their lips crashed together. The only thing he was going to regret in the morning, he thought, was that he couldn't go back and do this ten years sooner.
8
Lara enjoyed the feeling of Paul's lips on hers more than she'd remembered. It had been a long time, and the memory of how things had been left had colored that memory a little bit.
Yet, now, she was making one of the biggest mistakes she'd made in a long time, and the way that her heart beat, the way that her body surged with arousal at their sudden interlude was all that she needed to know that she was going to make it whether it was a mistake or not.
"God, I've missed you," he purred against her lips. His arms wrapped around her felt strong and comforting. His body was firm and felt good against her. It had been so long since she'd had, well… since she'd had anything like this.
Relationships took time. Time she didn't have, not with Tim, not with her job, not with how badly the last one had gone. Now she was going to get a second chance and in spite of knowing that it was going to go just as badly as it had last time she wanted to pretend just for an hour or two.
His lips pressed against her throat, his hands finding the crease where her ass met her thigh and cupping it hard. She let out a low moan and clapped her own hand over her mouth before she woke Tim up. There would be no amount of explaining that would make that alright.
He moved his hands again, pulling her in tighter, and she raised one leg to wrap around his hip, feeling something stiff press against her leg. She enjoyed that feeling, enjoyed the idea that there was someone out there who still found her arousing, even if it was going to be under these circumstances, with the man who she'd told herself she wasn't going to make this mistake with again.
He pushed her back until her back was against the wall and pulled her dress up roughly, over her hips. If she were in her right mind she'd have stopped him, she'd have told him that it was too late, that they weren't a thing any more and she wasn't going to be used like this.
If she were in her right mind, she'd have done a lot of things. Instead she helped him lift the hem of her dress higher, his fingers tracing hot lines across her skin that made her want desperately to put her knuckle between her teeth again to muffle the moans that she was having serious trouble keeping to herself, moans of anticipation and then pleasure as his teeth scraped across the sensitive skin of her throat and his fingers traced their line right to her panties.
He pressed his fingers against her mound and traced the line of her outer lips as he pulled away. "Lace?"
Lara's eyes shut and she didn't answer him. She wasn't going to answer him, either, no matter what he did with those fingers. No matter what she wanted him to do. She would at least manage to avoid giving him that satisfaction, if nothing else.
He pulled the crotch of her panties aside with one finger, and the other traced the same line again, dipping only the tiniest bit between those lips. Dipping enough that he knew now exactly how much she was looking forward to this, mistake or not.
He kissed her again and entered her with one of those fingers. God, damn. Somehow it felt that much different when it was someone else. That much better. A feeling she'd been missing for so long that she didn't realize how much she had wanted it, except that nothing could scratch an itch she couldn't name.
He moved against her, his thumb moving in concert with his fingers to tease the hardened nub of her clit. She tried to move to put herself more in line with his hands, tried to get herself more of that touch, to get more of the sensations that he was giving her.
He rubbed a soft breast through the fabric of her dress, his kisses moving down again to her neck. She could feel an orgasm building up. His fingers seemed to remember every place inside her, his body moving exactly where she wanted it before she even knew that she wanted it.
She wrapped an arm around him to fit her finger between her teeth, and she bit down, hard. Her voice escaped anyways, muffled by her mouth and by the effort to keep herself quiet. She hoped nobody was awake to hear it, but she couldn't stop herself.
"Turn around, Lara," he said. His voice was husky, thick with need. "Bend over."
She did, pressing herself back against the hard spot in the front of his pants. He pressed himself back against her for a moment before pulling away. She heard the sound of his fly working itself open, and then she felt his shaft pressed against her.
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…"