Songbird (Bellator Saga Book 7)

by Cecilia London

  “Like what?”

  “Why do you like me?”

  He whistled again. “Christine, your mildly improving people skills might have taken a little step backward. Where did that come from?”

  Genuine curiosity? I wasn’t sure. “After a public incident like that, I always wonder what it must be like for the people who have to spend time with me. What a burden it must be on them.”

  “You’re not a burden. Get that out of your head.”

  “I have to be on all the time. And if I’m not on, I need to make excuses as to why. And I can’t look tired or melancholy or anything else without it being analyzed to death and I had hoped it would stop once I left office but it hasn’t. Why do you think that is?”

  “You’re a woman,” he said. “You’re always going to be held to an unrealistic standard, especially when you’re one of a very select group of former heads of state who also happen to be female.”

  Which was a depressing thought, but the way he said it made me lean over and kiss him anyway.

  “What was that for?”

  I kissed him again. “For being you.”

  He pulled me under him on the couch, gently. “If you hate going out, we could stay in.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as you want.”

  “Now seems like a good time to stay in for a while.”

  “I figured.”

  A few long kisses and a couple of sneaky slips of his hand under my blouse later, I decided to get topical again. “Why do you like me, Alex?”

  “Hmm?” He tucked his shirt back in. I hadn’t done much but there had also been some disheveling of clothing on his end. “You’re a great kisser, for one.”

  “Be serious.”

  “I am. That’s a very important skill to have.”

  “Kissing is not an integral part of my personality.”

  “I beg to disagree.” He tucked a loose hair behind my ear. “This really concerns you, doesn’t it?”

  I’d told him about my dating history, or lack thereof, and he’d understood. Or I thought he had. Maybe I hadn’t explained myself well enough. I nodded.

  “You’re just a bundle of insecurities, aren’t you?”

  I nodded again.

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “I know it defies explanation. I know it’s illogical. It just… is.”

  Alexander sat there for a moment. Thinking, no doubt. I had to remind myself not to try to fill the void with words. Sometimes people needed time to think. Especially when their partners threw them for a loop.

  “You’re smart,” he finally said. “And funny. And gorgeous. And genuine. You’re who you appear to be, most of the time, even if I sometimes need to dig a little deeper to get there. I know you’re holding back a lot, but you’re not exactly in denial about it. You’re reserved, with good reason. But I can tell you’re a good person, Christine.”

  “How?”

  “I just can.” He took my hand in his and squeezed. “Look, tonight when that girl was filming you, trying to throw you off your game, you were still in control, still taking it all in, still analyzing the scene from every angle. Nothing gets past you. You may not have said everything you wanted to say back there but I know you’re still thinking about it. Digesting it. You’re reflective. You think before you speak. You see things as they are, not as you want them to be.”

  I found his assessment of my behavior at the museum to be entirely too generous, but decided to indulge him. “I am indeed a cynic,” I conceded.

  He shook his head. “No,” he corrected. “You’re a realist. And after everything that’s happened in this country over the past few years, that’s an important distinction to make. You’re no cynic. Not in the slightest.”

  “It’s hard not to be cynical,” I said. “Really hard.”

  “And the fact that you still have any shred of hope in the world is a mark of your strength. And your ability to see the goodness in others. Even if you can’t see it in yourself.”

  Now we were getting a little too deep. “Are you telling me to give myself a break?”

  He kissed me. “Give yourself lots of breaks. All the breaks. Most people are their own worst critics, but you take it to an entirely different level. Lay off yourself, Christine.” He laughed. “Frankly, if that chick had put a camera phone in my face, it might have ended up in pieces on the floor.”

  The thought had crossed my mind. But, yadda yadda, public persona and common sense had carried the day. “Be still my heart. A man willing to commit physical violence on my behalf.”

  He grinned. “I didn’t say I would do it for you.”

  “Oh, hush,” I said, and pulled him on top of me again.

  *****

  We didn’t sleep together that night. Or the next few nights we saw each other. We did kiss quite a bit though. He wasn’t rushing me and I was determined not to rush myself. My impulsivity would occasionally break free and I would do my best to guide that bronco back into the barn, with somewhat reluctant success.

  Kissing was easy. Fun. Safe. Alexander had never gone further than that unless I’d taken the initiative, which was nice. There was a fine line between sexual frustration and next morning regret, and I didn’t want to cross it. Kissing and fondling and nonthreatening bodily contact were also convenient excuses for me to evade difficult questions with a physical response. I waited for him to call me out on it, but he never did. Maybe it didn’t bother him all that much.

  They say familiarity breeds contempt but for me, it never had. I was never one for the thrill of the chase, since I’d almost always been the quarry being hunted. Familiarity meant security, meant affection, meant the kind of commitment I craved. I’d had it and lost it, and I wanted it again.

  I felt like a teenager, like when they used to tell kids that if they couldn’t talk about sex, they shouldn’t be having it. Problem was, I’d had two children, been with the same partner for over half my life, and I still had a hard time discussing… that particular topic. I feared that any time I broached the subject I’d come off as a woman accustomed to sex as a mechanical, perfunctory act, when my personal experience was anything but. I projected the image of the unattainable, à la Helen of Troy, solely because I kept my business to myself.

  That didn’t keep me from thinking that any conversation I had about sleeping with Alex would be very, very unsexy. Which was why it was very, very necessary. I couldn’t give the most intimate parts of myself to him without beginning to understand why or how I wanted to give them in the first place. Nor did I want to damage this tenuous bond we’d managed to establish by failing to address that quiet, insecure voice in the back of my head that seemed so unsettled at the prospect of sharing my heart or my bed with a new partner.

  There were other, equally mortifying concerns. I’d been with the same man for a long, long time. I’d been told I had skills in certain areas. What if I’d been misinformed? Tom never had any complaints, but what if my abilities in the bedroom weren’t all that polished and had regressed as the years passed? I wanted to get acquainted with Alexander Guardiola in the most intimate of ways. I didn’t want to be a bad lay.

  Finally, after dinner and a nightcap or three, and a few lengthy kisses on his couch, I decided to jump in, feet first.

  “We need to address the elephant in the room,” I said.

  “A-plus pun usage.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Are you concerned that only one of us has Executive Branch experience? I can overcome that… ma’am,” he said.

  Oh, very nice. “Please don’t tell me you have some weird intern/Oval Office fantasy because we will not be acting that one out.”

  “Could someone my age get hired as an intern?” Alexander asked.

  “Roger’s very pragmatic.”

  “You call the president by his first name. See, out of my league.”

  I nudged him playfully. “We’re friends. He and I spent a lot of time together in Cana
da.”

  “How much time?”

  Was he jealous? “He’s married, Alexander.”

  “That doesn’t always matter.”

  His father definitely hadn’t been playing golf when he skipped out early during Susannah’s 2L summer. “It does to Roger Bailey. He’s a good man.”

  “I know. Just dealing with more of that… what did you call it?”

  “Baggage.”

  “Yes.”

  Back on subject. “If you really want an internship, I could make some calls.”

  “You probably should. Something like this—the gap in experience, I mean—could prove fatal to our relationship.”

  “I think we need to get serious for a minute,” I said.

  “You weren’t serious about a White House internship? I need a few minutes to recover.”

  I tugged at his collar. “No jokes.”

  “Fine.” He took the opportunity to lean in for another kiss. “Get serious.”

  “I would like to talk about where this relationship is going.” There. That sounded good.

  “I think it’s going well, don’t you?”

  “I meant, more specifically, where it might go tonight.”

  “Oh.” He looked as if I’d genuinely caught him off guard. “I see.”

  “I’m not being impulsive this time.”

  “I can tell.”

  “But I also think I need to… discuss expectations. I mean, neither of us are virgins but—” How could I possibly complete that sentence without dying of embarrassment?

  “In a way, we are,” he said. “The first time you sleep with someone is a discovery, right?”

  Oh, okay. That made sense. I could build on that. “I suppose so.”

  “Much of a couple’s initial intimacy is about discovering likes and dislikes, don’t you think? Almost like sexual information gathering. The joy of discovery. Science but fun.”

  “Are you comparing me to an archaeological dig?”

  He kissed my neck. “I want to know everything about you. That might require some pretty intense studying. And I’m an eager student.”

  “That might take a while. I’m much older than you.”

  “I am a man of uncommon dedication.”

  Didn’t hurt for me to make the journey a little easier for him. “All my internal organs are in the right places,” I said.

  “Duly noted.”

  “I’m very sensitive so you don’t have to worry about getting a response out of me.”

  “That’s consistent with my observations so far but thank you for sharing.”

  “I like soft touching but sometimes a little harder.” In case he hadn’t picked up on during any of the times we’d crept toward home plate while spending lengthy periods of time at first and second base.

  “Mmm-hmm.” He nuzzled my neck. Apparently he was eager to get to third as quickly as possible.

  There went my plan of hiding my fears. I didn’t like that he could read me so well. “My body is not as springy as yours.” I gestured vaguely. “And my parts are not as, um—”

  “I have lube,” he said. “And condoms. Even if pregnancy isn’t a possibility, I want us both to be comfortable.”

  “I agree. Safe sex is important.”

  “Good.” He mock wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Saves us that discussion.”

  I was glad he brought it up first so I wouldn’t have to. Any man who wouldn’t insist on taking precautions was not a man I’d want in my bed. His proactivity was definitely a point in his favor. “If you call me ‘Madam President’ during any of this, whether we are undressed or not, whether sensitive places are being touched, or whether parts are inside other parts, I am running out the door and never looking back.”

  “Fully naked?”

  “Fully naked.”

  “No power-tripping pet names. Got it.”

  “Oh, and before I forget, I haven’t done this in a while and it’s a little bit alarming.”

  He kissed the back of my hand. “Your drought is about to end, my lady.”

  We were really going to do this. I slid back into panic mode. “You said you had a crush on me before. You’re not part of some secret club that likes to sleep with former heads of state, are you?”

  “Is there such a thing?” He grabbed his phone. “I need to know.”

  I yanked it out of his hand. “Don’t.”

  He kissed my nose. All that teasing. I couldn’t tell if he was doing it to calm me down or rev me up. “Am I supposed to find your public service daunting?”

  “Do you?”

  He chuckled. “We’ve done almost everything except for what we’re about to do. Why are you so nervous?”

  I’d only had one sexual partner in practically the entire time he’d been alive and I hadn’t slept with anyone in over three years but sure, my nervousness seemed unexpected. Yes, we’d done plenty of heavy petting, but we’d kept our clothes on the entire time. Had he forgotten that part? Dry humping without completion did not a fulfilling or particularly novel sexual encounter make.

  “I’m not nervous. By the way, no anal. I know your generation is much more into that than mine and I have no interest in crossing that line.”

  Alex took one of my hands in both of his. “You’re nervous. You wouldn’t be babbling if you weren’t.”

  Babbling? I was still babbling? I hoped I’d started to sound more assured. “I’m just making my likes and dislikes known. Enthusiastic consent, I think it’s called.”

  “Or the lack thereof,” he said.

  Valid point. “Or the lack thereof,” I echoed.

  He mimicked holding a pencil to a writing pad. “’No butt stuff,’” he said, as he pretended to scribble. “Anything else?”

  Every time I tensed, he brought me back to a more relaxed reality. I could let myself enjoy this. A little. “No sock puppets,” I said.

  He mimed scribbling again. “Is this a long list? Will I need another notepad?”

  “No talking about gnomes.” I shuddered. “I hate gnomes. Of all varieties.”

  “Is there some reason why you think I would incorporate gnomes, be they garden or otherwise, into any sexual activity we may perform?”

  “I’m being thorough.”

  “‘Irrational fear of gnomes,’” he wrote. “Anything else?”

  “No, I think that about covers it.”

  “I’m going to add ‘no sock puppets and/or gnomes doing anal’ just to be safe. Cover all my bases. I wouldn’t want to trigger anything.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at the imagery he evoked. “There’s got to be a YouTube video somewhere of sock puppets having sex, right?”

  Emboldened by our easy back and forth, he fingered the top button of my blouse. “We could Google it. If you’re more of a voyeur as opposed to a participant in such things.”

  I closed my eyes. “I think I’m good.”

  “You just need to keep me in the loop. I won’t know what you like unless you tell me. If you don’t like something, tell me to stop. Don’t feel like you have to let me keep doing something because you think I like doing it.”

  “I don’t want to say anything that makes it sound like I want you to get off my lawn.”

  “Good,” he said. “I imagine it’s a very well-manicured lawn.”

  Enthusiastic consent, I’d said. I got the distinct feeling Alexander Guardiola would respect my boundaries. Nevertheless, I needed to make sure we were on the same page. I wasn’t taking any chances. He was saying and doing all the right things so now was as good a time as any to proclaim my intent.

  “I would like to have sex,” I announced. “Tonight. With you.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “Because right now I’m the only option available unless you plan on flying solo.”

  “I want you to know that I don’t expect fireworks or magic or anything. I just want to feel good.”

  “I can only hope to exceed the artificially low expectations you’ve set
for me,” he said. “Because I won’t rest until there’s at least a sparkler or two.”

  Maybe he could pull a rabbit out of my hat. Only one way to find out. “Take me upstairs,” I said.

  He took my hand. “Are you sure? I know we’ve talked the talk but we don’t have to walk the walk if you’re not ready.”

  “I’m ready,” I said firmly, and let him lead me up the stairs.

  Once we got to the bedroom, he turned to me again. “Just checking in.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, feeling significantly less sure than I had a moment before.

  “Christine.” He guided me to the bed. “What can I do to help you relax?”

  I sat down. “I’m a little tense. It just hit me.”

  He sat next to me. “How about a foot massage?”

  “Is now the time to ask you if you have any fetishes I should know about?”

  Alexander laughed. “I’ve got the hots for an older woman. That about covers the extent of my kinky proclivities.”

  “Well, then.” I grabbed a pillow and thrust it under my head. “Show me what you got.”

  Oh, he was good. At first it wasn’t sexual at all, just a way to help me clear my head. He didn’t bother removing my nylons. Although the occasional sound of a joint popping was a bit discomfiting. What if he thought I had arthritis? Should I let him know about my daily calcium intake to reassure him I wouldn’t end up with osteoporosis or a mighty hump someday?

  Get ahold of yourself. Lay back and experience this.

  Alexander rubbed the soles of my feet, my heels, and the lower parts of my calves as he worked his magic. One foot, then the other, then back again. He didn’t speak, occasionally glancing at me, giving me a smile that was starting to border on wicked.

  “Do you touch yourself?” he asked, as cavalierly as if he were talking about the weather.

  I almost shot up into a sitting position before remembering that yes this man was sexy and yes he was touching me in places that were starting to seem very sensual and arousing and yes he meant it the way I was taking it and maybe just maybe I shouldn’t disrupt his rhythm by demonstrating how much the question had caught me off guard.

  That didn’t mean I had a clue how to answer him. Embellishment meant he’d almost certainly recognize the lie. Honesty meant he’d think me a prude. I was in a no-win situation, so I played Solomon and split that masturbation baby down the middle.