by Chloe Lane
I want to hear her voice, soft and obedient, saying “yes, Senator,” when I tell her to bend over the desk, when I tell her to keep her hands on the surface, to be a good girl.
And she would be a good girl. I’ve never crossed any lines with her, not even at the late dinners we’d have during the campaign to plan for the next day. I never asked her a single inappropriate question, never hinted that I wanted to know anything about her sexual past, never gave any indication that I wanted to know everything there is to know about her.
But Marci—she never asked for time off to go on dates or meet a man. Nobody ever took her out after campaign events, even when everyone else was paired off. I never saw her giggling in the hallway with one of the handsome assistants.
I did see the way she looked at me, though, even then. This last week in the office has proven that even a vacation away from one another changed nothing.
Out in the waiting area, Marci’s voice rises and falls with Kathy’s, and then another joins in—a man—and Marci greets him. My next meeting.
I adjust my cock in my pants and try my damnedest to focus.
We dance around each other for another two weeks, the days falling into the hectic pattern of being a United States Senator. It’s grueling—the endless meetings, the constituent calls that my staff takes and that I have to respond to, the ins and outs of the committees, the politics that happen behind closed doors, late at night.
I insist on getting up early every morning to go for a run and lift weights in my apartment building’s gym.
It doesn’t help at all.
One stray thought of Marci and I’m hard as a rock and aching for release. At this rate, I’m going to have to buy stock in Kleenex.
For her part, Marci has been keeping up with the pace—running ahead of it, actually—but something seems to be nagging at her. A couple of times, I’ve come out to the waiting area and seen her having a quiet moment at her desk, biting at her bottom lip, looking down at a stack of papers without seeming to see them. When she catches me watching, her face goes scarlet, every time.
I wonder what thoughts are crossing her mind.
And how dirty they are.
With every day that goes by, I want to spread her open on my desk and tease those thoughts out of her pretty lips even more.
I go to Senate votes and shake hands and attend fundraisers with my back straight and a smile on my face, but all I want to do is to touch her. I can’t get her off my mind, I can’t stop thinking about her
I want her to be mine.
It’s a thought that forms a constant drumbeat in the back of my mind. I could do worse than Marci. She’s attentive and whip-smart and gorgeous.
One Friday, it consumes me to the point of no return.
We’re in a lull near the end of the day, and I’m not sure when my next meeting is, or even if I have another one today.
I want her to be mine.
Sitting behind my desk, I can’t get the thought out of my head. I can’t have her, but I must have her. My cock strains against my pants at the thought of stripping her down, of taking her, of claiming her.
Then, like I summoned her with my thoughts, she’s standing in the doorway of the office, a worried look on her face.
“Senator?”
“What is it, Marci?”
She takes her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry—I know you like to have meetings out of the way as early as possible, but there’s a gap in your schedule today.”
“A gap?”
“You have a dinner planned with Senator McKinnon, but it’s not until seven.”
The light from my window is already fading and it’s only four o’clock.
Maybe it’s the three-hour stretch that pushes me over the edge. Or maybe it’s the way Marci looks in her neat pinstriped skirt suit, her dark hair gathered at the nape of her neck.
“Have you sent the staff home for the day?”
“Not yet. I was coming to see if there was anything else you needed.”
“Send them home. Then come back in here. There’s something we should discuss.”
Chapter 7
Marci
The Senator’s blue eyes are pooling with an emotion I can’t place. No—I can place it, it just makes my heart beat hard and fast while I hurry back to my desk and call down to the staff offices.
Kathy lets out a whoop when I tell her they’re free for the evening—but to keep cell phones on in case of an emergency. She cuts me off mid-sentence.
“I’ll remind them. Thanks, Marci!”
“Thank the Senator!” I chirp.
She laughs and hangs up, and I put the phone back into the cradle as gently as possible.
Then come back in here. There’s something we should discuss.
My pussy throbs, and I bite the inside of my cheek to try to keep myself in check. I could be wrong about what the Senator wants to discuss. He could be planning to fire me, for all I know. I can’t think of anything I’ve done that would put him in that kind of mood. Maybe the schedule gap? No, that can’t be it. He’s never been the type to fly off the handle. As long as I’ve known him—which, granted, is only the length of the campaign—he’s done his best to live up to his untarnished reputation. And that includes treating everyone on his staff very well.
Hands trembling, I stand up from my desk. Should I shut the outer door to the office? My stomach turns over. Shutting that door—that would be inviting someone to wonder why the door was closed so early on a Friday, and I can’t have anyone asking questions or raising suspicions and starting rumors…
I give my head a quick shake. All of this anxiety is premature. I smooth down my skirt and go back into the Senator’s office.
He’s sitting behind his desk, every dark hair on his head in place, eyes still deep and dark.
“Close the door behind you.”
I obey instantly, without thinking, shutting the door with a soft click and turning back to face him. I straighten my back and take in a deep breath. The atmosphere feels so different—this is not like any conversation I’ve ever had with him—and my body is already responding, my nipples hard, my pussy soaked and pulsing, my heart racing.
I clear my throat, the sound muffled by the plush carpeting in his office. “What—” I have to start again. “What did you want to discuss with me, Senator?”
He stands up, his tailored shirt moving flush with his flawless body, and comes around the desk to where I’m standing, my back inches from the door. I breathe him in, the scent of his cologne light and expensive. His eyes lock on mine, and it’s like all the air goes out of the room.
“The first thing I want to say is that you can leave at any time.” His voice is low and commanding, and the sound of it sends a jolt of pleasure between my legs.
“I don’t want to leave.” I blurt out the words before I can stop myself.
A smile spreads across the Senator’s face. “I don’t want you to leave, either.” His expression returns to seriousness. “But you don’t have to be here, if this isn’t what you want.”
“What is this?” I’m so confident when I’m in the security of the outer office, but now my voice is barely above a breathy whisper.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Marci. And God, I—” He shakes his head, looks away for a moment. “I can’t stop thinking about you. All day, all night…it’s driving me wild, having you constantly on my mind.”
A flush of heat fills my chest, a warmth that goes all the way up to my cheeks. He’s been thinking about me, just the way I’ve been thinking about him—obsessing over him. But then another thought occurs to me. “I’m—I’m sorry, Senator. If there’s something I should be doing differently—”
“No.” He steps closer, putting one hand against the door and framing me in with his presence. “No, Marci. There’s nothing in the world I’d want you to do differently. Except—”
Something breaks open in me then, and before I realize what I’m doing, I�
��m leaning forward, rising up slightly on my toes, and pressing my lips against his, my hands grabbing for the front of his shirt.
He lets out a low growl and my entire body is suddenly aflame, and I’m moving against him like I never imagined I would move against any man. I can feel the hard outline of his cock through his pants, pressing into my mound. There’s a split second when he is surprised by my initiative, but then the Senator takes control, and I almost come right then.
His hand trails up to cup the back of my neck and he pulls me into him, backing me up so that my spine is pressed against the cool wood of the door. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth, exploring, and then his lips are on the side of my neck, kissing and sucking the sensitive skin there. His hand deftly catches both of my wrists in his grasp, and he pins them up above my head and against the door. He brushes his lips down my jawline, down the front of the exposed skin between the lapels of my blazer and the white shell I have on underneath.
“So you’re a bad girl,” he growls into my ear, and my hips jerk forward at the words, trying to press myself into him. It’s like his words unlock something in my mind, and I hear myself saying things—dirty things—
“I am a bad girl,” I gasp. “I’ve been thinking about you—thinking about the things you could do to me—”
He catches one of my earlobes between his teeth, sending a bright shock of pleasure tripping over my skin. “I could do so many pleasurable things to you if you’d be my good girl.”
I can hardly breathe, I can hardly think. This isn’t the Senator who campaigned on the reputation of the Sterling family name, but it’s the Senator I want, right here and right now.
“I’ll be good.” I mean it with all my heart, with everything pulsing between my legs.
“And you’re sure, Marci, you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes,” I moan, my entire body reaching for him.
I think he’s going to take me into his arms, spread me out on his desk, and start right then, but instead the Senator steps back and runs a hand through his hair.
“Be at my apartment. Nine o’clock.” Then he turns away, goes to his desk, and scribbles something on a square of paper that he presses into my hand. “This is the address.”
My mouth drops open. This is—this is it? He’s going to leave me like this, after—
“And Marci?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be late.”
Chapter 8
Senator Sterling
Marci’s face is flushed a deep pink, and it takes her several beats to tear her eyes away from me.
“I won’t be late,” she whispers, her voice almost silent.
Then she disappears out the door. There’s a soft click of buttons on her phone, and then she calls back to me. “I’m stepping out for a few minutes, Senator.”
I come to the doorway, my cock pressing painfully hard against my pants. She has no idea how much I wanted to take her right then and there, over my desk or straddling me in my oversized chair, or even on the sofa.
But I couldn’t.
The risk is too great.
“You can go, Marci. I think we’re done for the day.”
Her green eyes go wide. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I give her a smile, trying to reassure her, and I’m rewarded with a fleeting curve of her lips.
“Okay,” she says softly, then moves back to her desk, gathers up her things and turns off her computer. She takes her time slipping on her jacket and putting her purse over her shoulder. I can’t bring myself to go back to my desk.
A few feet from the door, she pauses, looks back at me, and parts her lips like she wants to say something—ask a question, maybe—but instead she just nods her head. “Have—have a good night, Senator.”
I’m sure I will.
I rush through the dinner with Senator McKinnon, who wanted to talk about something we’re planning to make a move on in one of the subcommittee sessions next week. It’s difficult to care about the Subcommittee for Deep Drilling in the West when I’ve got plans with Marci, but I play it off like I’m buried beneath other work and leave after one drink.
The cold air shocks me back to reality between the restaurant and the waiting car. Marci will be at my apartment in less than an hour—if she shows.
She will show. I’m certain of it.
I’m just not sure how far this will go tonight.
I know how far I want it to go, but I can’t press her. I won’t press her. Marci is young, I remind myself in a steely tone. She might not have the kind of experience I’ve had, but the way she reacted in my office this afternoon tells me that she wants me more than she’s wanted anything before, that she’s open to making new discoveries.
I didn’t mean to go that far with her—calling her a bad girl—but I got caught up in the moment, and Jesus, did she ever respond to it. I’m not even sure that she was aware of the way her hips were writhing in her pencil skirt, or the way her voice went low and deep. Even if, on the surface, she’s good in every sense of the word, there’s a small part of her that wants to be bad.
I subtly adjust my cock in my pants as the car pulls up to the curb in front of my building. Forty-five minutes and then we’ll know for sure.
I’ve given the doorman instructions to let Marci in, and I’m still half surprised when there’s a quiet knock at my door at exactly nine o’clock. I pull open the door to reveal Marci. She gives me a nervous smile. I give her my most reassuring one.
“Come in.”
She steps inside and looks around, taking everything in.
It’s a spacious set-up. The foyer leads into a wide living room that has a picture window looking out over DC. To one side of the living room is the master suite, and to the other side is a hallway that leads to a guest bedroom, an office, and a second bathroom.
“You have a lovely home, Senator.” Her voice is collected, but if I had to guess, she’s been practicing for tonight since she left the office.
“Thank you.”
I take her coat and hang it up on the rack near my own. Marci has changed her clothes, out of the pin-striped skirt suit into a form-fitting black dress that hugs her curves in a way that makes my mouth water and my cock twitch in my pants. Marci looks up at me, her lips slightly parted.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Not—not right now.” The words come out as almost a whisper. She’s practically vibrating from the tension.
I step closer to her.
“What would you like?”
She blushes then, a deep red, her mouth opening and closing.
“You’ll have to speak up, Marci.” I ease a little more command into my tone, and her face deepens another shade of red.
“I want—” She takes a breath, then tries again. “I want to be a good girl.”
I raise my hands then and put them under her jawline, tilting her face up toward mine another fraction of an inch. “For me?”
“Just for you.”
I lean down then and kiss her, hard and deep, and she melts into me with a low moan. The kiss is electric, and the way she moves against me makes me want to bend her over the back of the sofa and take her right now.
Marci breaks off, pulling back a little bit, though she keeps her hands wrapped around my wrists. She bites her lips, and her green eyes flash with worry. “Senator, I’m—I’m not the kind of woman—”
“I know,” I murmur into her ear. “I know, and I’m not that kind of man. We can stop, Marci, we can stop anytime—”
“I don’t want to stop.” Her voice is soft, but certain. “I’m only worried—I’m only worried that—”
“You can tell me.”
“I’m only worried that I won’t be…enough for you.”
This is as close as we’ve ever come to discussing her past sex life, and I don’t need to belabor this point. I don’t need to know.
“You’re done worrying,” I say, then draw my lips down t
he side of her neck, feeling her shiver. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. All you have to do…” She gasps a little as my hands move down to her waist, then start trailing lower. “You just have to be a good girl.”
Chapter 9
Marci
I don’t know what comes over me—it’s like the words good girl trigger something deep inside me that turns me into a person I’ve never been before—never been able to be before. It makes my insides molten. It makes me want to do things—to be things—that have only crossed my mind since I met this man, since I first saw the way he moved through campaign headquarters, so at ease, so confident. Other candidates might have been concerned that they weren’t married, but somehow Senator Sterling turned that into an asset.
With his lips on my neck, all of that whirls together with the man who’s standing with me now, his hands sliding down the sides of my body toward the hem of my dress.
I agonized over this dress. I rushed home from the office and tore the clothes from my closet, flinging them onto my bed, and then I stripped to my panties and bra and tried on one thing after another until I’d finally settled on the form-fitting black dress, simple and cut to emphasize the petite and narrow waist that the Senator is caressing right now, my breasts peeking over the neckline.
“I can do that,” I say, my head falling back as the Senator works his way down to my collarbone, his lips firm and assured.
“Yes, Senator.”
The way he says it leaves no room for error. I know what I’m supposed to do, but when I open my mouth to repeat the words, my mouth goes dry and another shiver forces my hips to sway from side to side. It takes three tries before I get it out. “Yes, Senator.”