“I just like the fucking cold, you evil asshole,” she gasped, letting him stroke her.
When her hips quit their fight, he leaned back in. He tasted the ice cream and the salt of her and it was lovely. Perfect.
He tongued her deeply, relishing every taste and every moan. When she began to push against his mouth, he matched her rhythm. He slid his fingers into her, curling them, searching until--
She bucked with a yell. He stroked her there and sucked her clit into his mouth, hard, his stiff tongue flicking it until she came, her screams reaching him through her legs, clamped tight around his ears.
He kept at it until she was gasping, “Enough, enough!”
He slid out and stood up. She was collapsed on the table, her body covered with a gorgeous sheen of sweat, her breasts heaving.
“You were always a bastard,” she sighed.
“Not anymore!” He laughed, feeling drunk on her. “I found out who my father is.”
“What?” She started to sit up, but he wasn’t ready. His hands gripped her and he slid his hard cock inside of her soaking pussy. He smiled, maniacal, at her as he began to pump into her. “Turns out Walter Taylor is my dad, too.”
She squirmed, trying to get away, trying to open more for him, her body and mind warring. “Simon! Stop!” He slowed his thrusts, pulling agonizingly slow out of her, his thumb reaching between them to stroke her clit. “Fuck!” She cried, “Don’t stop!”
Victory soared through him and he began to plow into her, the sounds of their flesh slapping and the table scooting from the force of his thrusts not loud enough to compete with their cries of pleasure.
He felt the tightening in his base, the swell of his cock. “I’m going to come,” he cried.
“Yesssssss,” she hissed, her hands clamping onto her breasts.
He exploded into her, his orgasm so large it was like a punch. He pounded the table next to her with his fist, riding out the climax, still pistoning in and out, sweat beading and dripping down his brow.
Finally, like her, he’d had enough and he slid out. He braced himself on arms planted on either side of her.
It was the most perfect moment of his life.
“That was better than all of the fantasies I’ve had of you combined,” he growled.
She reached up, brushing his sweat-moist hair out of his eyes. “Oh?” She smiled, cocky.
“Sure,” he replied. “All three of them.”
She slapped his chest playfully. “You asshole.”
He helped her up, his hand drifting down and squeezing one lush cheek. “We can try that next time, if you want.”
She beamed, but her eyebrow arched. “Next time, hmmm?”
“Don’t make me beg, Jessica.”
“I have a feeling you never beg for anything.”
True enough.
~~~~
She was still tangled in her sheets when Simon got out of bed. Her hair was fanned on the pillow, brilliant red a stark contrast to soft white cotton. Beautiful.
He hadn’t been able to sleep. Her warm body had been so tantalizingly near, ready to seduce him to sleep. Instead, he’d spent the whole night looking at her. Smelling her. Listening to the soft sighs she made in her sleep. It was better than he’d hoped for.
Now that Simon had a taste of Jessica, he’d never be able to let her go. He’d been starved for her and now, satiated, he refused to be hungry.
The problem, of course, was all of the problems in his life. FBI, Walter, Roger. What he wanted, more than anything, was to take Jessica and run. The benefits to being trained as he had was he knew how to hide. Simon had no doubt he could keep Jessica and himself off of the grid for the rest of their lives. But there was no way he could convince her. That would mean taking her away from her daughter. It would mean telling her the complete truth about his past. If he did that he was damned certain she wouldn’t go.
Fine. It was time to get his shit back together. There was too much riding on this to get flaky now. He needed to get organized.
He pulled on his clothing softly, trying not to wake her up. Step one… he was going to have to come out of his own self-exile. He needed to get back into Walter’s good graces. If he couldn’t do that, everything else was null-- he’d be going straight to prison. Walter would want something, a prize, if he was going to believe Simon.
After all, his last order to Simon had been to kill Paige.
Jessica stirred and then rolled over, burying her face in her pillow and diving back into sleep. The way it made his stomach and heart lurch brought a bitter taste to Simon’s mouth. He remembered kidnapping Paige. Tying her up. Getting a knife.
He’d been so, so close. His resentment to Roger had been so big by that point, a storm consuming him. When Paige had revealed that Walter was Simon’s father, the resentment had flared, filling his eyes with red and his mouth with thick contempt and horror. He’d become a little unhinged.
So Walter had called and asked him to eliminate Paige because of her prying, and to punish Roger.
In the end, Simon had helped Paige and Roger. Hell, he was still helping them by paying the mercenaries protecting them. Fortunately, if Roger actually became the Vice President, he’d have his own secret service detail that could help keep him protected.
He was getting ahead of himself again. Jesus. His thoughts were all over the place. Simon couldn’t afford this kind of scattered thinking.
His feet were almost silent as he went to Jessica’s side of the bed. He knelt and brushed some hair from her face. She murmured into the pillow, then woke enough to gaze, heavy-lidded, at him.
“Hey,” she whispered, voice rough with waking.
“Good morning,” he smiled. “I have to go to work. I didn’t want you to think I’d just run out.”
She sat up and he appreciated the sheet falling down. Oh, she’d tried to sleep in pajamas. But they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off of each other and in the end, after two more rounds, they’d passed out naked. Now her breasts, with their soft and pink nipples, were radiant in the morning sunlight streaming through her open window. Always with the open windows.
“I can make you breakfast,” she offered.
“I wish I could, but I gotta run. Important client.”
“The FBI? I’d say.” She smiled and stood, completely nude next to him. His mouth went dry and damn it, he really had to go, but she was just so alluring.
Simon leaned in, kissing her, loving every second her lips pressed tightly to his. This was something he could get used to. Finally, he broke off as she tried to wind her hands in his hair and pull him closer. “I’m sorry, love, I really do have to go. Are you free tonight?”
She nodded. “Just don’t be late this time, or you’ll earn a spanking,” she teased.
He swatted her bottom. “I’m not the kind of guy who gets spanked,” he added seriously. “See you tonight then.”
He dashed out before she could convince him to stay. It wouldn’t have taken much. But if he was going to protect her, it meant jumping straight into the frying pan and hoping to hell he didn’t get burned.
Chapter Six
“You’ve got real balls coming here.” Walter was reclined in his plush leather chair. The mahogany desk in front of him, the Oriental rug spread on the floor beneath, and the wall to wall bookshelves were all familiar sights for Simon. Even the smell, books and cuban cigars, issued a sense of homecoming.
It sort of is.
Simon had grown up in this home, the one in D.C., and the governor’s mansion in Virginia. He’d lived under the same roof as his father his whole life and never known the man’s love. His mother had hidden the truth and Walter had been more than content to play the part of wealthy benefactor.
Now the office, with its subtle show of money and pride, stung instead of being a comfort. And the man before him, red faced with anger, no longer held the same power over Simon.
Well, Walter was the fool. Had Simon known the truth all along, it
was entirely possible he’d have given Walter his complete allegiance.
Simon shrugged. “No offense, Pops, but I needed a little time.”
Walter shuddered. “Don’t call me that, not if you want to keep living.
“I think we both know you’re still considering taking me out, no matter what name I call you. Tell me-- have you put out the order yet? Hired the hit?”
“Not yet.” Walter didn’t need to hide that information from Simon. They both knew it. “But it is tempting.”
“No need. My head is clear and I’m ready for work. What do you want me to do?”
Walter cracked his knuckles, kneading older, beefy hands. He had the tall body that the three brothers had inherited, but he’d let his muscles turn to a heavy slab over time. He still managed to look menacing, though. “Bullshit, Simon.”
“It’s true. Can you blame me for needing some time? That was an awful big secret you’ve been keeping from me.”
“I couldn’t tell you. That secret would have ruined me.”
“If you were that concerned, you should have taken care of my mom and me long before this. We both know that’s how you prefer to bury your deepest secrets. No loose ends.” He glared at Walter, then. It was their biggest secret now, and Simon’s greatest shame. It was one thing to ruin lives. It was another to end them. Walter had asked it of him once. Now, of course, Simon could see clearly. That hadn’t just been a job. He’d been covering up something big for Walter.
Walter shuddered, the first real emotion Simon had seen from him.
“What, my mom? You loved her? Please.” There was scorn and anger in Simon’s voice. He was learning he could accept a lot. He was nothing, if not adaptable. But believing Walter cared for his mother? That was too much.
“My feelings for Marta are not your concern,” Walter snapped. “If I could have made things different, I would have.”
“Sure.”
“I would have,” Walter hissed. “Of all my sons, you’ve been the least disappointing. You listen to me. We work well together. It should be you in the Senate. But I couldn’t acknowledge you without ruining everything I’ve built. And all I’ve built is what took care of your mother and you. So don’t fucking presume to know my feelings, son.” The last word was a curse and it hit Simon, hard.
The worst part? He believed Walter. How could he not, when he was seeing more emotion in his father than he’d seen the entire time he’d been under his roof? Simon could picture it, being in politics, Roger his second, or maybe Dallas. Jessica his wife, beautiful on his arm. Walter would have given that to him.
He could have, you asshole. He chose saving his own skin over you.
Fuck, that’s right! Simon thought he was good at manipulating people. Walter, he was realizing more and more, was the true master.
“Okay, so I forgive you for being a shitty father,” Simon muttered wryly. “Now, let’s put these skeletons back in their closet and get to work.”
“No. I can’t trust you, Simon. You think I don’t know you’re friendly with Roger now? If you were still working for me, his snake of a wife would be dead and his career dead along side of her. Instead, he’s got extra protection duty that I know only you are capable of.”
Simon sat in another leather chair, making his body appear relaxed and casual. “No offense, but that was a special circumstance.”
Walter’s face grew stormy. “I don’t have room for special circumstances. I give an order, and you do it.”
“So I’ll do it now,” Simon offered. “But I think we can do better. You’re right, Roger thinks I’m friendly with him now. And yes, he’s got some protection. Because, you know who let’s their guard down the quickest? Someone who feels safe. Roger feels safe because of me.”
“But he’s not?” Walter added, still sounding dubious.
“No. He’s being vetted for Vice President as we speak. There’s a good chance he’ll get it, too. Right now he’s a Golden Boy.”
“That isn’t exactly music to my fucking ears, Simon,” Walter growled.
Simon held up his hand, silencing Walter. “What’s that old cliché? The bigger they are, the harder they fall? He gets VP, then I work my magic and he’ll never work again. He won’t be able to. He’ll be in prison.”
Walter sat forward. Simon had his attention. “How are you planning on doing that?”
“I’m going to take everything I’ve been doing for you over the years Roger’s been elected and I’m pinning it on him. Starting with those two Senators and that agent.”
He delighted in watching his father blanche, stunned. “I don’t understand-- how will you do that?”
“It won’t be easy. I’ll need more information from you than you’ve given in the past, of course, as well as closer access to your primary clients. I’ll need details I don’t currently have in order to go through and doctor the records and events. But with some time and access, I can make him burn.” Simon added relish to his proclamation, waiting for Walter to take the hook.
Nothing was said for a long time. In this case, Simon was glad for the silence. It meant Walter was considering what he was dangling out for him. If Walter had any sense, he’d tell Simon to get out now.
But Walter loved power. And he really loved revenge. Roger, kin or not, had truly wounded Walter with his stubborn denial and outright refusal to do as Walter had trained him to do. Simon offered not only a way to ensure Walter would be safe from his crimes, but vengeance.
“Fine. Tell me what you need, and make it happen.”
Simon smiled. “Of course.”
Walter stood, moving to the door to show Simon out. As Simon rose to leave, Walter had once last thing to say. “Son,” he said, low and dangerous, “do not fuck this up. You think you know me and my business. I assure you, you only know a fraction of what I do. If you cross me, I will spare no expense making you pay tenfold.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Simon went into his home. It was just as he’d left it. The floors were still their clean and dark wood; the counters and walls various crisp, modern, and masculine colors; even his kitchen was still clean, with only the knife he'd almost used to kill Paige in the place he'd left it on the counter. The chair she'd been tied to still askew in the middle of the floor. These two reminders made him cringe. No, it was more than cringe. Simon realized that for the first time, he felt shame. At what point during his training and working for Walter had it become so easy to let go of guilt?
The mask of pride is a solid one and one he'd worn for years. But his pride had been stripped from him and he did not like what he was finding underneath.
What surprised him more than the uneasiness of guilt was that there was no attachment to his home. This place, palatial in size and in a posh area of D.C., should have been a mark of pride. He'd paid for it in full when he'd bought it, making the Realtor's eyes shine in amazement. He'd hired a top interior designer and made it his. The designer had wanted insight into his personality, but at the time he'd lied. He'd been the wealthy bachelor because he hadn't known who he was or what he'd wanted.
Now he knew. He wanted Jessica's home; nice but nondescript. Clean but colorful. Simple cottons and linens instead of leathers and silks. Somehow the easy going nature of her home appealed to him more than his own.
Simon was there with a purpose. He'd been absent since taking Paige because he wasn't sure who his father would send after him, but he was fairly certain it would be at least one, if not two or three men trained as he had been. Walter had a temper and Simon had crossed him badly that night.
He grabbed the knife from the counter, shifting to an overhand grip on the handle. The blade rested easy and flat against his thigh, tucked back and out of sight. He moved from room to room, checking behind doors, under beds, and in attic spaces. There was no one waiting for him and no signs of anyone having been in his home. Of course, he wouldn't leave signs, either.
After he was sure he was alone it was time for a more systematic check. He s
wept each room, running his fingers along baseboards, behind paintings and the books on his bookshelves. Cabinets, drawers... everything was checked in detail. All the places he could think of to hide a mike or a small camera. His search turned up nothing.
It should have made him happy. Instead, knowing something should be there and wasn't was not reassuring. He liked knowing what to prepare for and this left him, well, nothing.
Frowning, he went to his room and grabbed a fresh suit. He felt torn. After spending so much time in Richmond following Jessica, D.C. no longer felt like home. But if he was going to do his job, he'd have to come back. There was no way he could make the long commute each day. And there was no way in hell he'd leave Jessica unguarded.
As he straightened his tie and styled his hair, giving it the perfect last minute muss, he began working on a plan keep Jessica close. He just had to hope Roger would go for it.
Chapter Seven
Back in his SUV, he began the drive back to Richmond. As he sped down the interstate he called his brother.
"This is Senator Taylor," his brother's voice rumbled over the phone.
"You pompous ass," Simon spat back.
He could hear the mumble of frustration and the rustling on Roger's end. Probably signaling to Paige to come listen, and Dallas, too. Simon knew if he called one of them, he might as well assume he'd be speaking to all of them. Convenient in this case, he supposed. Only had to say things once.
"You've been missing," Roger accused.
Simon laughed. Geez, his brother was high-strung. How he'd ever been best friends with him once was beyond him. "No offense, but I helped keep you alive and your wife as well. I don't owe you anything."
"Now who's being the ass? We're family now, Simon. You should let us help you."
Family. It was true in the technical sense. And only half true at that. But Simon had been raised an outsider, forever a bastard looking in on the Taylor's "ideal" family. It didn't matter that it had been far from ideal. It really didn't matter that, if it hadn't been for Roger's tryst with Jessica, he'd probably still be friends with the guy. What mattered was Simon had learned long ago to only trust himself. The recent events had only reinforced that.
The Corrupt Trilogy Page 24