by Alex Elliott
“That’s rich. You’re insinuating that I’ll listen with a closed mind if you don’t ask.” I roll my eyes, fully aware of all the avenues, me allowing him the opportunity to sway me is pure madness. Effectively I just stacked the deck in his favor. Good going, X.
He leans closer, his mouth taking possession of mine. He uses his tongue to separate my lips and then he thrusts fully into my mouth, our tongues sliding against each other. He kisses me, stealing all my thoughts. He masterfully sucks my bottom lip between his teeth, biting down with a nip, but before I can cry out in pain, he tangles his tongue with mine, encircling my waist with his arms as he reaches down and cups my ass cheeks. The slight sting from my recent paddling amplifies the sensation of pure pleasure, rippling through my body, diving into the coiling pleasure housed in my belly that aches to be set free.
Our eyes meet and I can see a scorching rawness in his gaze, unrelenting and one he doesn’t try to hide. He wants everything I have. “You’ll use me up,” I whisper, afraid for the first time.
“Never,” he says, his voice harsh and sure. “Trust me.”
He retakes my mouth. His lips are as skilled as they are incredible, full and firm and without parallel. He’s a man who uses his body and mine in licentious ways that unbalance my reason. Clearly that’s what this is about. Knowledge isn’t power and I can’t protect myself. I was wrong to think otherwise.
I’m vulnerable to the angle of his oral assault. Each thrust of his tongue leaves me feeling as though he’s fucking me all over, and I cling to him, opening my mouth, and letting him inside. The man’s a master, whether it’s using his dick or his tongue. This is open warfare and he employs the means to make me lose my mind.
I have to even the score and wind my arms up to his broad shoulders, higher until my fingers twist in his hair and I tug. “You’re not listening!”
“Kennedy!” My name comes out a warning rasp accompanied by growl deep in his throat. “I am. I listen to every snappy syllable that exits your incredible mouth. Baby, give me a chance.”
His voice rises and he smiles—cocky as ever—and I can’t help but meet his grin with a smile of my own. I yank fistfuls of his hair, refusing to let him think I’m a total pushover. “I have given you a chance. Twice.”
“Agree to something longer than one night.” Not to be outdone, the good senator smacks my ass, not once but several times until I let go of his hair and moan into his mouth. Without breaking contact with my lips, he resumes cupping my ass, grinding his erect cock into me. He kisses me harder, rougher demonstrating he’s got the power as he possesses me from the outside in.
What he’s doing should incense me, but it doesn’t. I’m melting, near to exploding. “Please,” I plead without shame.
“I should fuck you like you deserve. Really show you what I’m talking about. Will you let me—give me total authority over you?” He cups my chin and our gazes lock. I can’t resist and I weakly nod my agreement.
Bennett resumes kissing me, asserting his ownership over my mouth and I open to him, letting him suck and bite my lips, going farther than kissing. He’s devouring me bite by bite.
When he stops his commando kissing, I’m out of breath and the space between my legs is even wetter as my sex clenches. This man has me skating a tortuously thin line, hovering at the brink of what I fear is out and out disaster.
“Stop thinking so hard! Just do what you feel.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. With me.” His hips pump against mine and there’s no more thinking—only raw lust.
One more grind, one more hair yank, and I’ll leap over the edge. I’m looking for a life line—the irony, it might have something to do with his dick, doesn’t bypass me. I’m real with him and that scares the hell out of me. He bends forward, recapturing my mouth, and muffling my reply, plunging his tongue between my lips until I’m moaning not a rebuttal, but his name.
He guides me onto the bed and I lower across the cool sheets, overwrought by throbbing pleasure that washes over my body. He’s made me come again and just by kissing—commandeering my mouth.
“You like that. Don’t lie to me.” He rubs his hand over my belly, until his hand rests between my legs, his breath caressing my neck, and the heavy ache inside me begs to be freed. Feather soft, he skims his fingertips across my pussy, moving his mouth to my ear. He whispers, “I’ve taken the necessary steps so that you’ll become my submissive. The ceremony will take place this Saturday.”
I go to lift up, my stomach muscles quivering. “Don’t I have a say?”
“Little sub, your pussy says, ‘yes’.” He presses his fingers against my shoulder, stopping me.
“Wait, circle back. Did you just say ‘ceremony’ and ‘submissive’ in the same sentence?” Holy hell—what does he think I am? I envision a woman bowing and scraping and being bound.
“Yes,” he strings out the word, watching me intently.
Then silence, no explaining and without breaching my folds, he continues his measured caressing. He’s teasing me and I’m incapacitated. “Open your legs and stop fighting me.” He gives me a smile like I’m trying his patience, but not the kind of look like he’s at the end of his rope—more like he’s got my number and he’ll win.
A newly minted, “Fuck you!” flies out of my mouth.
His hoarse grunt is my only clue before he rolls me to my side and smacks my ass in rapid succession. “That’s not ladylike,” he snarls and smacks my ass again.
The stinging stripes from last night ignite, hotter with his blistering palm print, branding my ass.
I’m grabbing his hand—or trying to—when he flips me onto my stomach, pinning me underneath him, and wrenches open my legs. “Do you want me to show you how I’ll happily take you, to get you on track? Right now, X. Say ‘yes’ and I’ll show you who’s top.”
Would he actually do something like fuck me...from behind... and then be on his merry way to his first appointment? “Are you talking about...I’ve never done that. No! We’ve got a meeting.”
“Not once?” His ragged breath rushes over my neck. Without waiting for my reply, he yanks my hips up and against him. His cock is a rigid bar, imprinting my skin with tactile proof that yep, he’s not joking. No question—he would. Problem: I...want...him...to!
“What? Are you threatening me with anal? Christ, no. I’m not making that up.”
He rubs his cock against me, palming my ass cheeks, and separating them. Cliché or not, time in my world stops. I feel his hunger and my body clenches. I want him. He swipes his crown over the seam of my ass and stops at my opening. The pressure of him pushing against me makes me gasp. A shiver passes through me, making my nipples tighten as goose bumps cover my skin.
“Relax for me, baby,” he says slowly, pushing the head of his dick inside me. “Beautiful, I want you to open up to me on all levels.”
“Please,” I whimper as he pumps his crown inside me. I’m falling. Falling. Falling.
“You are ideal. Can’t you see that we’re perfectly matched? What is it that you want? Without fail, I’ll give it to you.”
I gulp, staring at the headboard—diamond-shaped padded leather and honestly, there’s nothing I want from him aside from more sex. The perfect conundrum. He’s proposing exactly what I desire and all I have to do is summon an ocean of courage and agree. There’s only one thing I need.
“Secrecy,” I whisper.
I expect him to scramble, think about a response but he doesn’t. “Absolutely. You’ll have it and I’ll put it in writing.”
“In writing. That contract you spoke of?”
He withdraws his cock, leans over until his body blankets mine. “We both require confidentiality. So yes.”
So simple to take him up on his lascivious and now secretive offer. Who would know? Clearly, he’s thought this out to have a written agreement. “You’re sure no one would find out about us?”
His fingers grip my hips, harder for a beat, then tenderl
y trace along my waist. With a sigh, he rolls off me, and lifts me so that we’re looking at each other. I lick my lips, my heart booming in my ears, and he gazes at me, combing his fingers through his hair. “This isn’t the type of offer I make to just anyone. I belong to a very exclusive club.”
The weight of what he just admitted crashes down. This is more than a discussion of his ‘other lovers.’ I gaze into his green eyes not understanding. “You’ve hooked me. Please explain the rest of that iceberg.”
“It’s where we’d go. No fucking around outside. Ever. Except, I broke that rule with you. But after Boston, we’d have to agree to contain ourselves.”
“And how is that supposed to work?”
“Let me repeat and reiterate. We don’t fuck around outside the club in D.C. That eliminates the risk of being found out. I’m not coming out of your apartment. You’re not coming out of mine. No fear of the press.”
I falter, conceptualizing what he’s driving at and then it hits home. “Are you referring to... You can’t mean...” So this is where he’s acquired his ability to fuck like a savage...except he’s a United States Senator. There’s a disconnect. He can’t be serious!
“What do you want to know?” He’s gone totally serious. His eyes are back to glass. Green, hard glass.
Just say it. “Are you talking about a sex club?” That phrase zero times has rolled off my tongue in relation to myself before, but this parallel is lower than zero. So new is the idea—the mere shadow of an idea about sex clubs that include me and him doesn’t even exist within the confines of my brain. I’m stunned. I’m troubled.
His arrogant—bordering on wolfish—grin returns, widens, but his eyes remain focused on me. “This isn’t just any sex club. As I said, it’s exclusive.”
I stiffen, flabbergasted and blurt out, “Just you and me? That’s exclusive.”
He quirks his brow and shakes his head. “There are other definitions of exclusive. The House has an elite patronage.”
“It doesn’t sound exclusive. It sounds like a contained playground for rich men, Bennett.”
“You’re so black and white and to dispute your statement, there are plenty of women members.” He dips his head, lowering to a few inches away from my eyes, and his stare is unwavering.
“Oh really. I might be concrete, but you’re purposely obtuse. I lay down a card and then you lay one down, but only based on what I say or ask.” We gaze at one another, and the sensation is potent. Inescapable. It’s like he sees into my eyes and right into my soul. “Either there’s a crowd or not. Don’t get off topic by drawing a line to me, defining the provisions of what you brought up.” I inhale, dropping my gaze. We’ve veered past the edge, and are careening all the way to crazy town!
“Okay. Fine. There are patrons,” he answers but doesn’t elaborate.
Patrons? Elite? Is this some game he’s playing? I look up and meet his eyes. “How many people—patrons? And who are they?”
“Last count. One hundred and ten members. But no names. I can’t divulge anyone’s identity.”
I cover my mouth with my palm and I’m ready to roll my eyes but I don’t. Not yet. “And why is that?”
“If you’re asking will your identity be kept safe, then yes. Fact: people are present but no one talks. It’s barred. Trust me, there are members with lots on the line. We cater to high-end clientele. No one will gamble on the confidentiality agreement my partners and I have in place. We’ve got the goods on everyone who comes to play. When you get a feel for the atmosphere, you’ll understand. Immediately.”
“And will you and your partners have the ‘goods’ on me?” If they do, he’ll know about why and on what grounds I’m pursuing this gig as his intern.
“In a manner of speaking. Yes. But you’re off limits ... except to me of course.”
“Oh but of course. Your possessive nature isn’t exactly hard to miss.”
He leans over and kisses me sweetly on my lips. “So are you in or are you out?”
“Is there a third option?” I stammer, refusing to leap. “Because, I might need a shove.”
“It doesn’t work that way. On the outside, you decide whether to cross the threshold. Jump one way or the other. No middle of the line.”
“I’m nervous. When do I have to decide?”
“Right. Now.”
So much and so soon, but with him I’m quickly gathering that’s how each moment in his life runs. Razor sharp—or at least that’s how it feels to me—and without over-analyzing my options, I nod. “In. I’m in.”
“Good choice. I’m very pleased. Now, lie down.” He presses me backward. “When you submit yourself to me, this give-n-take will unfold much differently.”
He places a towel under me, rolling my hips down to the mattress. He parts my legs, and then touches the wet washcloth to my folds, wiping me and adjusting my legs to give him better access.
The cloth is wetter than I’d imagined, and although he’s not trying to get me off, I’m clenching from the jolts of pleasure his touch imparts. I clutch the sheets in my hands, my thigh muscles tighten, and I’m so close to begging him to do me.
“We’ll meet at the House. It’s a highly guarded club. Both with the outer trappings of security features but more so as members guard their privacy. The House isn’t advertised or discussed; it’s secretive, private, and it offers us a place to explore our options. Without restriction. It’s safe. Probably unlike any place you’ve visited. You can’t talk about it. Can’t tell your friends. A driver will pick you up, blindfold you, and bring you to me.”
“And I just go with the flow?”
“Do you trust me?”
“I don’t know you...” But even just meeting him, I can’t deny there’s something about him that reaches inside me. There’s something about him that inspires trust. Not just to me, but countless people and it isn’t some PR campaign hype. “As crazy as it sounds. I guess, I do trust you.”
“Come Saturday night, you’ll be mine.” He pats me dry, lowering his mouth to my mound and nuzzles me, dragging his tongue across my folds as I sway under his attention.
“Please,” I whisper as he latches onto my clit, and sucks me hard. Sucks me until I see stars burst apart. I come for him, threading my fingers into his hair as he holds open my pussy. I clench and quiver as he thrusts his tongue into my entrance, licking my release. “Bennett. God...you make me feel so amazing.”
Raising his head, our gazes fuse. “You won’t regret giving yourself to me.”
Chapter Twelve
Racing for the Edge
Press the button for autopilot. Jon picks us up and behind my aviators, I watch how he and Kennedy interact. I’m holding a copy of a speech, yet it’s them I focus on. He nods and greets me, and then her. They’re friends but they don’t do more than say a clipped ‘hello.’ Earlier, I texted Nora about Jon, asking her for details about ‘who’ he is. She bounced the connection back to Kennedy—as her contact.
“I’ve got the door,” I say to Jon, curtailing him from getting close to X.
She raises a brow, but says nothing as I take her elbow and help her into the backseat. Fuck, if this were a limo, I’d have her under me in the next six seconds. No question.
Once inside, she hands Jon our schedule and the list of addresses. Pulling away from the curb, we enter the morning grind. Near the harbor, we speed along and only hit a traffic jam on the other side of the tunnel.
Jon doesn’t glance in the rear view mirror. He drives without commentary, and after minutes of glaring, I stop. What the fuck am I doing?
I refocus on the girl sitting next to me. “Any questions?” I ask, splaying open my legs wider, touching my knee to hers.
“I’m good. Studied my info packet. Any special requests on where I should position myself?”
Christ, I clench my jaw. I have a few ideas. Looking over the rim of my sunglasses, I say, “What you did last night was perfect.”
“Okay.” She replies with a
quick smile. Nothing more to add, she blushes and looks away.
At the first stop, we’re robotic. Distanced. Held in check.
I’m fully aware of X. Want her. Starving for her, I look away, realizing the more I hold myself back, the stronger my fixation gets.
I repeat the words from my memorized speech, and begin to kibitz with the audience composed of unionized teachers and school staff without a staffer to field questions. This group is politically savvy, and I hunker down for what I expect will be a sharp-edged meet-n-greet... until Kennedy abruptly steps in and begins to direct those present so I can address each speaker. I listen to the man in front of me, relaxing into my established routine of audience interjection. More directed than last night, in-line with how I operate on a campaign trail thanks to executive coaching, yet anyone with working eyes can discern Kennedy’s an asset. She’s a natural at corralling those waiting, and better afterward during the “handshake”—a little bit of face time that I spend within the crowd.
I half watch as she picks up a baby, and then comes over to me. “Senator. Let me get a photograph.” I nod, smiling, and take hold of a cute kid as the baby’s father claps me on the back.
With her phone she snaps a few pictures, then she’s back to working the crowd. She converses, laughing, and smiling with the people she encounters.
We’re ready to roll to the next event. Jon pulls up and we pile inside, discussing what just happened. I find myself laughing again as we recall some of the things asked, and when we pull up to the next stop, I can’t recall the drive. Only the girl. Xavia. Her name is on the tip of my tongue.
Exiting the Bronco, we enter a factory, a harder sell with people who’ve been hit by the economy, but fuck if it isn’t a grand slam repeat performance. Mentally, I click off the items on my schedule as we go from point to point all over Boston. Never have I felt so at ease while being so fired up...I want to take a break and talk to Xavia. Tell her things.
Each event completed is one-step closer to claiming this girl next to me. Xavia S. Kennedy: gracious, spontaneous, whip-smart...all are an understatement to describe her talents. She was born for this job—and for what I desire from her when it’s just she and me.