by Amy Faye
Tears started to run down her cheeks, purely from the sensations shooting through her. She pulled herself away, climbed up and rubbed herself against his hard cock, slick with her saliva and pressing against her through the sheer fabric of her hose she enjoyed the feeling of him against her.
Paul didn't wait, apparently didn't have any interest in teasing. He grabbed her hose and ripped. He seemed to be experienced with it. She rubbed back again and the feeling of his skin directly on hers, even before he entered her, was electric.
He lowered his hips as she pulled forward, and when she pushed back again he entered her easily, between her own arousal and the wetness of his cock. She rocked back and forth, her weight pressing constantly to get his cock to hit her right where she wanted it, to take the pleasure as much as she could. His lips found her nipples and bit down.
Lara bit down on her finger again. She had never been quiet during lovemaking, but then she'd never been surrounded by so many people, so many of them who must have been wondering whether or not she was fucking him.
Well, they would have their answer as soon as they came into the front cabin, she supposed. Was that a problem? She didn't know. It could cause trouble for Paul if it got out, but so could any of the other affairs that she knew he was having. There must have been plenty. But here she was, no doubt almost twice their age, and she was the one that had him this time.
There was a sort of feral victory in that. She moved harder, faster. His mouth unlatched from her breast and his head pressed back into the chair as she moved. His breath came in hard rasps and his hips moved to meet hers with every thrust, anticipating her coming back by a second as the orgasm that was building inside him threatened to overtake him.
Lara was close, too, she knew. There was one thing that would do it. One thing that had always done it. It had gotten her into trouble once, and if she had kept track properly, today was the furthest thing from a safe day.
The very idea made her shudder, sent her spiraling closer and closer to the edge of the orgasm that had been building up in her the entire time.
"Lara," he breathed. "You should-"
She moved harder, rougher, taking him in deeper and deeper until she wasn't sure that there was any deeper to go. Her head leaned down by his ear and she whispered into it.
"Cum in me, Paul. Knock me up. I know you want to."
He grabbed her hips hard and suddenly she realized that she hadn't known what rough was. She'd forgotten, but Paul was happy to remind her. Lara let out a yelp in spite of herself and her eyes rolled in her head, seemingly unaware of any effort she had to try to focus them.
"Fuck," he growled. She could feel him spurting inside her, spraying his seed up and into her womb. She loved that feeling. She could feel herself clamping down on him, pumping out the last little bit of whatever he had left. Her body went limp and she tried to take an unsteady breath but her body was tired. Too tired for words, at this point.
"God, that was…"
She realized that she didn't have words for it. The captain came over the loudspeaker. "We'll be making our descent in just a few minutes, will everyone please return to their seats and fasten up?"
That was her cue to move very quickly, Lara realized. Her legs were wobbly as she got up and reached for her bra and shirt.
She had to dress quickly, but God… all she wanted to do now was enjoy the afterglow.
Paul watched her as she buckled into her usual seat. His expression wasn't angry any more. That, at least, was some kind of progress. Lara hoped so, at least.
19
Paul's stomach did a flip when he came out of the shower and saw her sitting in his room. His wife didn't have a key. He made sure that she never did, and yet there she was as clear as day. There was no other way to interpret it, really. She was in his room, which meant she had a key.
"How can I help you?"
If he let her know that he was worried about how she got in, then she'd never let him live it down. It would always be a victory that she could hold over his head, and even if she didn't say the words to him he knew that she was going to be savoring it, and she'd make sure that he always remembered it.
That wasn't acceptable, no matter what happened.
"I was just thinking that we could have that talk."
"I don't know what there is to talk about," Paul said. He pulled on his shirt and started buttoning. He didn't have quite the body he'd had in college. Politics had gotten in the way of his gym routine somewhere along the way.
Regardless of the outcome of the election, he made a note to get back into it. Maybe shed those last few stubborn pounds and really start looking like he was as ready for swimsuit season as a man his age could be.
"Don't tell me you've already forgotten. One little fuck and suddenly you're all forgetful? Don't tell me you're going to way of Reagan on me. I would love to have the Presidency in my hands, but being Nancy Reagan was never what I envisioned."
He let out a long, low breath. Anger was unbecoming but he couldn't deny that he felt it, either.
"I don't want to talk to you about him. Leave your claws out of him, and I'll leave you be."
"Oh, the wolf bears his fangs after all! How quaint. Paul, if you thought you could threaten me, you should have learned better a long, long time ago."
He finished buttoning his shirt and pulled his jacket on. "I'm not threatening you, Helen. You're right. I do know better. If I want to hurt you, then the knife needs to come unseen. But I'm telling you, if you don't leave that boy be, then you'd better start worrying about where it is that you're not looking."
She smiled. Knowing that she was getting under his skin was a price that he would pay gladly if it meant that Tim was off the table. Paul worried, though, that it meant nothing of the sort. She wasn't the sort who walked away. Not even when she should have known better.
"You like him don't you? Is it because you think he's your son?"
"No," he told her. It was the truth, though the thought had crossed his mind. "But I do like him. He's a good boy."
"Smart, too. Smart as a whip. Why, at that age, I bet you were still pulling girls' ponytails."
"At that age I knew better than to get myself involved with people like you. Somewhere along the way I lost my senses."
"I suppose you did. We all lose our senses a little, sometimes, don't take it too badly."
"Don't worry," Paul growled. "I won't."
What was she here for? Why had she come in? Was she planning something? Was there something in the room that she was looking for? Or was she just hoping to gloat?
"I was thinking, you know."
"Tell me."
"The boy doesn't look very much like you at all, really. And you know, the timelines do add up, but…"
"But what? I'm getting tired of this. I need to get ready for the dinner tonight, and I can't do that with you here."
"You want me to call in your little fuck-toy? We can talk while you keep yourself busy."
He could feel the twinge in his arm of wanting to slap her. But he held himself back. He'd gotten a lot of practice at that, all these years. Now he could almost do it without thinking.
"Just tell me what you want and get out, Helen."
"I was just on the phone with Stan," she said. As if it were an afterthought.
"What about him? Did he offer to help you shed your skin for the season or something? But you needed someone else to lend a hand?"
"Cute," she said, with an expression that said that she thought it was anything but. "No, I was talking to him, seeing if he knew anyone who might have any information on your girl. I thought it might be useful to know whatever we could dig up on her."
"I don't think that's necessary, Helen. You know her from way back. I don't think there's any surprises waiting for us."
Helen's smile widened and his stomach flipped. He didn't like that look, not one bit.
"Do you happen to remember what she was doing when she was in college, last time y
ou had her bouncing on your disgusting little… 'thing?'"
"She was a student," he answered. "I think I talked to a couple of her professors once or twice, maybe."
"That's right," Helen said, as if he were playing twenty questions and she thought he was finally starting to get it. As if there was something to get, though he knew better than to believe that. "She was a grad student, in fact. Do you happen to remember what she was studying?"
He took a deep breath. "No, Helen, it wasn't important to me at the time."
"No? It might be important to you now, so think hard. What was she studying?"
He didn't bother thinking about it at all. "You're just going to tell me, aren't you?"
"Go on, it's like a game, Paul. You know about games, right? You play so many of them."
Paul's temper flared and his arm twitched to remind him that it was ready to go any time. If anyone could talk to him about games, Helen wasn't one of those people.
"I don't see why this is relevant. Can we move on?"
"Come on, Paul. I'm not going to go without one guess. Just one. Who would be interested in the Salt Lake City District Attorney's office? Who would be interested enough to hide herself under his desk?"
"I don't know. Law student?"
"Ding ding ding. We have a winner," Helen said. Her voice held excitement, which meant that he wasn't going to like what she had to say. That was the only thing that he'd ever seen her excited about. Things that hurt him, or things that helped her. He didn't see how Lara was going to put her in a better position for anything, which meant…
"What's your point?"
"Do you know what she's doing now? Ten years is a long time, do you know where she was working before you picked her up for your little fuck-adventures?"
"Helen, please. Just come out with it and stop this bullshit. I really would like to leave."
"She was district manager at a U-Haul," Helen answered. "Why is that, do you think? She got her masters, passed the bar, and then… didn't use it? I wonder what that could be about."
Paul let out a long breath. "Thanks, Helen. You've given me a lot to think about. Get out of my room now, please."
She looked downright disappointed at that response, or lack thereof. Paul didn't worry about that. She could be as disappointed as she wanted because he honestly didn't care either way. That was the only way he could get her off his back either way, he knew, and it was just going to be that much easier if he could pretend that he didn't care.
It was a good question, and knowing Stan Reitman, Helen already knew the answer. If she knew, and she was bringing it up, there was something there. But she was going to enjoy her little home dentistry experiment until she'd sucked everything out of him and then she might, finally, tell him something.
He wasn't going to stand for that, so the conversation was over. He made a note of it. Maybe there was something there, or maybe there wasn't, but he wasn't going to play Helen's game any more than he had to.
20
There was something unusual about the glint in Paul's eye when Lara saw him next. Something she wasn't sure she liked. Something she wasn't sure she could do without. He looked interested in her, and he looked like he was terribly pleased with himself.
The first was something that she was growing accustomed to, though every time it seemed to catch her by surprise again. She shouldn't have been interesting to anyone, but to a man with the power that Paul Green had… power that could literally drop any woman's panties with little more than a word, she thought. And his looks were no worse than that.
To think she could interest a man like that, even for a minute, it was still a welcome surprise, even if she saw the same look in his eyes every time that he looked at her.
"How was your rest? Did you manage to get any sleep? Shower?"
Her hair was still damp, hanging around her shoulders in rings that she should have been more careful in brushing out.
"No sleep, sadly," she answered him. "But we'll see. Is something the matter?"
He laid his face into the crook of her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her and as far as she could tell he ignored the question. They stayed like that for a long time, quietly standing together. There was so much that she wanted to tell him, standing there like that.
She wanted to be hard and mean and cruel and take whatever she wanted. It was proving to be more challenging than she had expected. So she did the next best thing and kept her mouth shut as well as she could manage. That was going to have to be enough because she wasn't sure that she could be any more of a bitch than that.
He seemed so vulnerable in that moment. It was odd to say about a man that much bigger than her, both in size and in political might. He was powerful in every sense of the word, and now he was standing there like she was the only thing keeping her on his feet.
"What's this about?"
"I told you before. I missed you."
"You keep saying it like that," she teased, running her fingers through his hair, "and I might just believe you."
"Don't say things that you don't mean," Paul mumbled into the crook of your shoulder. His breath on her skin tickled her, and she skated away, giggling.
"No, not my neck."
He smiled, his expression tired and almost withered. "Oh yeah? A new weakness? What's this?"
"No," she repeated. "Don't."
"Oh, I'm going to," he said. His arms wrapped around her, tight enough that she couldn't let go. The feeling was almost comforting, even as it restricted her. There was something in that grip even as his neck ducked in to kiss her neck, and she felt her body starting to squirm away before she could even stop herself. He pressed in and the same tickling sensation screamed through her.
"No," she said. Her hands pushed at him halfheartedly and he kept on holding her. She didn't think she could get away if she wanted to, but something about the whole thing made her not want to try very hard to find out.
"Alright, I'll be good," he said. His head lifted a little bit and a kiss pressed against her cheek. "Just let me stay like this a little longer."
His chin rested on her head and she was pressed up against him. He'd changed colognes some time in the years that intervened. No longer smelling of musk and cinnamon and roughness and sex. He smelled of sandalwood, now, a comforting smell, with hints of something flowery underneath.
She didn't usually smell it on him. She didn't realize he wore anything at all any more until just now, as she stood there in his arms, her nose pressed practically into his chest. It was as if they were sharing some private secret when she caught the scent. As if it were something that only she and he shared.
"You smell good," she murmured.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
She let him stay like that as long as he wanted. It was a long time, and yet when he finally pulled away she wasn't sure which of them regretted it more. He stood back. "I got you something."
"Oh?"
"You can't look, though."
"I've played this game with you before, Paul. I'm not covering my eyes and opening my mouth, and besides you're tall and you're big but you're not that tall and you're not that big."
"Not a present like that."
"What, then?"
"I told you: you can't be watching."
"So, what, then?"
"Close your eyes and put your hand out."
"I thought you said it wasn't that kind of gift."
"It's not," he said. He leaned his head down and pressed his lips against her forehead. "Just trust me, will you?"
"You're being awfully sweet all of a sudden," she said.
"And I'm going to be a whole lot of other things if you don't close your eyes and put your hand out."
She finally did as she was told. There was a limit to teasing, and she was suspecting that she might be about to find that limit. She didn't want to actually cause him any grief, and she didn't want to find herself getting a spanking, either.
"Are you ready? Eye
s closed?"
"I'm ready. Eyes closed."
"No peeking."
When he said it, it made her want to peek, just to spite him. It would have served him right, after all this time. What right did he have to give her any kind of orders? But she didn't want to piss him off any more than she wanted to upset him, and she knew that whatever it was, he clearly had this whole thing planned out in his head.
"Should I get a blindfold before you do this?"
"I don't know," Paul said, his voice low and husky and all too knowing for the hallway of a public hotel. "Do you want a blindfold? I've got a few other ideas of what we could put that to use for, if that's what you're thinking about."
"Not in the least, Paul, now will you just–"
Something in the dark took her outstretched hand and turned it over, palm up. Something pressed into it, hard and metallic and cool to the touch.
"Open them," he said, and Lara did as she was told. There was a gold circle in her hand. On the one side of it was an inset stone, deep dark red. It shone like fire when she turned it in the light.
"What's this?"
"It's for you."
"I don't understand."
"Try putting it on. I'm afraid I don't know your size, but–"
She slipped it onto a finger. It was too small to get past her second knuckle except on her pinkies, where it was too big.
"Too small? Damn."
Lara looked at it for a long moment. "But what is this?"
"It's just a gift. I saw it and I thought of you."
"Paul, I don't–"
"It doesn't mean anything, Lara. When you're done with me, you go and you keep the ring. Keep it to remember me by."
She looked up at him curiously. "I don't know if I understand."
"Ten years ago doesn't matter any more. I just wanted you to know, I do… I did miss you. And I did care for you."
She looked down at the ring. It reflected the light as she moved, the gold polished to a mirror-like shine and the ruby cut into a perfect square. It was beautiful, she thought. Impossibly beautiful. And she couldn't begin to understand why she had it. But she wasn't going to question it.