by Chloe Lane
The unspoken truth hangs in the air between us. Unless this—the two of us, what we’re doing—gets out. I might be able to recover my political career if I get a respectable wife and toe the party line, but Marci? She’ll be finished here.
I want to sip wine and ask her casual questions about growing up in one of Connecticut’s smallest towns, but that’s not what we came here to do.
“How do you—?” I search for the words to frame the question. “How do you picture this playing out?”
Marci bites her lip, frowning, and I know I’ve done this the wrong way. Before I can take it back, she takes a breath. “Well, I—I guess that’s not really up to me.” She raises her eyes to me, and for the first time I see something there that I’ve never seen before.
Love.
It can’t happen, but it is happening.
My throat goes tight. “I hope you know that I didn’t mean—” I swallow, then clear my throat. “I didn’t mean to put you in the position of planning all this out, of deciding on…on an end date.” I put down my wine glass. “I can’t get enough of you, Marci.” As the words spill from my mouth, the truth hits me square in the chest. “And it’s not only…sexual.” More color floods into her cheeks. “I want you to be happy. And if this—if what we’re doing—is too much of a risk for you, if you think I can’t make you happy in the way that you want, then I understand if—”
Now it’s Marci who leans forward, one hand on the table, the other gripping her wine glass so tightly I worry it might shatter. “It’s not too much.” Her eyes glow with determination. “I’ve never felt like this, ever, not with any of the other—” She presses her lips together. “Boys I’ve been with before. Never. I want this.”
Chapter 19
Marci
The Senator’s eyes are locked on mine, and I’m aware of every breath he takes, every rise and fall of his chest. He’s giving me a smile like he’s never given me before, like he’s just realized something, and something big. I don’t know exactly what we’re talking about. It’s too deep to fit into words. Everything, everything, is wrapped up in it. The sex, the way I feel so safe with him…my pussy is slick against the lacy fabric of my thong, and I press my knees together, willing myself to stay under control, at least while we’re out to dinner.
It’s at that moment that our waiter appears at my elbow, completely interrupting the moment.
“Your salad course, sir, madam.” He says it like he hasn’t just shattered the intensity between us, and then goes on to describe the many features of the salad, the fresh greens, the candied pears. It takes about a million years before he disappears again, taking his tray with him, folded neatly under his arm.
When I see the look in the Senator’s eyes, a part of me relaxes. He’s still entirely focused on me, like the salad never arrived. Maybe the waiter didn’t ruin everything, then.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”
Another wave of heat rises to my face. “It’s the truth.”
“I know it is. I trust you, Marci.” The phrase is loaded somehow, and another tension descends over the table. We’re both in each other's hands. Either one of us could destroy the other. I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. It’s the first time the thought has crossed my mind. I might love how the Senator dominates me, commands me, when we’re behind closed doors, but I have a strange sort of power over him, too. My chest goes a little tight, looking at him, his eyes full of a new worry. “Is something wrong? Marci?”
“I just—” I shake my head, lowering my hand. “I just realized that we…we’re in this together, both of us.”
“Yes,” he says, his tone indulgent. “But there’s nobody I’d rather be in it with than you.”
Every time he says something like this, my heart beats harder. It feels like the room is slowly losing oxygen, and the Senator seems to know it. He looks away from me and I can finally draw in a deep breath.
“Candied pears,” he says, lifting his fork from the white linen tablecloth. “Seems very elaborate for a starter salad.”
I laugh. “You chose this place.”
“I did,” he agrees with a laugh. “I didn’t know it would be quite this—upscale.”
“I’d have been happy with burgers.”
“There is no way—” He spears one of the pears with his fork, pops it in his mouth, and smiles at the taste. “—I would take a woman like you to any place less than the best. And most discreet.”
“Discretion is important.” A little knot of cold gathers in the pit of my stomach. What if this place isn’t as discreet as the Senator thinks? I take a quick glance around the room. The restaurant is a little warren of small dining areas, and there are only five other tables in here with us. Two are occupied, one with two men in expensive suits who speak quietly, their heads tilted together, and one with an older couple who seem to be thoroughly enjoying each other. A pang rushes through my chest. I want someone to grow old with, and I know exactly who I want—even if he might get there before I will.
The Senator makes a joke about another minor scandal that broke earlier this week, and then we both steer the conversation back to safer ground. He asks about my family—I have a younger sister, Carolyn, my mother was an elementary school teacher for most of her career and is currently the principal of the school in my hometown, and my father runs a drugstore—and I ask him about his. His father died of a heart attack when he was twenty-six and his mother is making the most of her retirement, traveling across Europe with a girlfriend. He has no siblings, and looking across the table at him, I wonder why. Maybe his parents were satisfied with him—I would have been—or maybe they knew a brother would never be able to compete.
My steak is perfection—cooked to a delicious medium and bathed in a sauce that I could eat all day, every day, for the rest of my life. By the time I’m on the last bite, I can’t stop myself from letting out a little moan every time the fork passes between my lips. It’s that good.
The Senator sits forward in his seat, watching my every move. When I lay my fork on my plate and cross it with my knife, he shifts in his seat. “Kitten,” he says, and there’s something heady and rough in his voice that sends a shiver of lust down my spine.
“Yes?”
“It’s a good thing you’re finished eating, because—”
“Because what?” I can’t help myself. I’m feeling a little naughty, and the wine has gone to my head. I dip the tip of my index finger in a small pool of the sauce that didn’t get soaked up by the steak, then bring it slowly up to my mouth, closing my lips around it and then closing my eyes, savoring the taste. When I open my eyes, I can tell the Senator is gritting his teeth. If I could see through the table, I know I’d see the hard outline of his cock pressed against his pants. I cock my head to the side and look at him with wide eyes. “Because what, Senator?”
He narrows his eyes, a rakish grin filling his face. “Because I don’t think I can wait much longer to take you back to my place.” Then he turns, signaling for the waiter. “He has ten seconds to bring the bill.”
Chapter 20
Senator Sterling
I can’t keep my hands off of her.
I can’t.
Sitting across that table from her, in that intimate little restaurant, watching the candlelight play over her face, made me hard. The little move with the sauce on her finger wound me up tighter than her pussy gripping my cock. Now there’s nothing I want more than to get her back to my apartment, strip her absolutely bare, and ravage and worship her.
Worship her, and punish her, and make her come hard while she rides me.
I ask the cab driver to drop us off down the block, even though it’s frigid out and her jacket isn’t exactly the kind of sturdy cold weather gear I’d want her to wear if she was mine.
If she was mine officially. Our discussion didn’t yield any kind of concrete plan—not that I expected it to, what with the waiter bringing course after course and the conversation
veering off into innuendo. And things that weren’t innuendo. I saw flashes of the real Marci tonight, and what I saw, I loved.
I loved it, and I crave more of it. Real might not be the right word. Unguarded, maybe. A woman free from the constraints of the Hart Building, and not the same woman who bends over my desk and spreads herself open for me. I love those other women, too, but the Marci I saw at dinner is where all those other parts of her begin.
I don’t make it to the lobby. We’re ten steps from the cab when I catch her by the elbow, and she lets out a little gasp, startled, but I just want one thing, one thing, and right now.
I press her up against the wall of my apartment building and take her face in my hands and kiss her, her lips warm and full against mine, the sweetness of the wine at dinner still on her tongue, all of it wrapped up in a flavor that’s all Marci.
She lets out a little noise into my mouth as the kiss deepens, and my cock just about bursts out of my pants.
“Hey!”
The man’s voice jolts me out of the kiss, every nerve on edge, and I straighten up, pulling Marci away from the wall. “Hey!” His voice echoes down the sidewalk and my heart thunders in my chest.
Down in front of my building, a man in what looks like an expensive overcoat is hurrying in the opposite direction, and a second man, dressed in something black and puffy, is yelling at him.
“Oh my God,” Marci whispers, her face white. “Is that—?”
She doesn’t have to say the words. The man in black has a big, professional-grade camera on a strap that lets it dangle beneath his left hand.
“Photographer,” I say it under my breath, struggling to get my pulse to settle.
They’re getting farther away. Part of me wants to pull out my phone and call a different car, but I can’t do that. I can’t let myself act so paranoid—not in front of Marci, not right now. We just need to get inside.
The pair disappears around a corner on the next block, and I put my hand on the small of her back and guide her with long strides toward the door of my building. My shoulders release some of their tension when I see the rest of the lobby is empty aside from Kevin the doorman. I give him a curt nod and head straight for the elevators.
When the doors slide closed behind us, Marci sags against me, pressing her face into my coat. A shiver runs through her body, and it’s not the pleasurable kind.
She takes a shuddering breath. “I thought—”
“I know.” I wrap my arm around her, drawing her in close. “I know.”
“I thought he was there for us.”
“He wasn’t.” There’s no way for me to know for sure that he wasn’t there for us, but what good would it do for me to say that to Marci now? She needs to calm down, to feel secure, and I’m the one who can give that to her in this moment. I kiss the top of her head, catching a whiff of the sweet fragrance of her shampoo. “Don’t worry, Kitten.”
She pulls back a little, and in the reflection of the elevator wall, I can see that she’s looking at the floor, biting her lip.
I rub at her arm. “What is it?”
She glances up at me and presses her lips into a thin line, squaring her jaw, trying to be cool and collected and brave. “I just—” Then she shakes her head. “It’s nothing, really. I’ll be fine.” She tries on a little smile. “I’m cold, is all.”
“Tell me.” I put one finger under her chin and tilt her face back toward mine, stopping her from letting her gaze go distant again.
She takes in another long breath and lets it out. “I don’t want to go back out there.” A little quiver in her lip. “He might be—” She lets her voice trail off, not voicing her biggest fear. That the photographer might really be there for her, or me, and if she goes back out, she’ll be found out. We’ll be found out.
“Listen to me.” I put every ounce of confidence and command into my voice, and under my arm I feel her body relax. “You don’t have to go back to your apartment tonight. You’ll stay with me.”
Her pale cheeks go pink, and she presses herself back against me as the elevator doors open. “Okay. I’ll stay with you.”
I guide her down the hall toward my door. “The guest room is all yours.”
She stops dead, looks back up at me. “The guest room?” A naughty grin plays over her face, but she doesn’t press, she just waits.
“Unless…” I pretend to be considering it deeply.
“Unless what?”
“Unless you’d rather be in my bed.”
When she speaks again, her voice has me hard as a rock. “That’s the only place I want to be, Senator.”
Chapter 21
Marci
I woke up in the Senator’s bed this morning.
It’s the one thought ringing in my head all morning, every minute, every moment, while I stand in line at the coffee shop, the same as I do every morning, to buy him a tall black coffee with two creams and a shot of espresso. I call to check in with Kathy about what’s coming down the pipeline, greeting other senators who are lingering in his office waiting room and watching their eyes travel down the lines of my body admiringly.
I know I don’t look any different. Early this morning, I heard the Senator murmuring into his phone in the next room, and when I emerged from the bedroom, his shirt from last night wrapped around me, he was smiling, relaxed.
If only I could feel so relaxed.
I felt unbelievable while he fucked me in his bed, my hands gripping tightly to the headboard, his hands moving over my body, fingertips circling my nipples then diving back down to my clit, his cock filling me, stretching me, taking me. When he wrapped me in an embrace, my back against the hard expanse of his chest, I fell asleep as peacefully as a child.
That is, until some point during the night when I dreamed of a clicking camera, a blinding flash going off in my face, a tabloid with my picture plastered on its front page with the headline, THE SENATOR’S WHORE. It took forever to fall back to sleep, but when I woke up…
I woke up in the Senator’s bed.
It turned out he had been calling someone who we had become friends with during the campaign, and that person had a contact at the department store down the street, and somehow—somehow—the Senator had arranged for him to bring four complete outfits for me, shoes and all. He’d described me so perfectly that all of them could have been pulled from my own closet, only they were a little nicer than I could have afforded to buy on my own. The smooth fabric of my skirt moves against my skin with every step I take.
Is that what everyone is seeing? Am I glowing because the Senator gave me this outfit?
Can they tell?
I pause, my hand not moving on my computer mouse, and take a deep, cleansing breath. You’re being paranoid, Marci.
The Senator appears in the doorway to his office with Senator Michaels, his last meeting before lunch. The two men laugh together, and I rise automatically from my seat, moving to grab Senator Michaels’ coat, even though he doesn’t have one since he came from another floor of the Hart Building. The movement catches the Senator’s eye, and his gaze flickers toward me and lingers, burning into me.
He knows every inch of me beneath these clothes. He watched as I stepped out of the shower this morning, and then he wrapped a thick towel around me and lowered his head to plant a kiss along the line of my collarbone.
“You’re gorgeous,” he’d said, his voice low and catching, and then he’d kissed me, slow and soft, and I’d wanted for us to go back to bed right then.
I want to go back to his bed right now. The heat blazing in his eyes says the same thing, but the moment is gone in the blink of an eye, and his attention is redirected back to his colleague.
When they’re finished talking, I usher Senator Michaels to the door and then return to my desk to pick up a folder that Kathy brought up earlier that morning. Standing in the door to the Senator’s office, I take a second to look at him, sitting behind his desk, his eyes zeroed in on his computer, before I interrupt.
“The latest on the deep drilling bill, Senator Sterling.” I keep my voice even and professional, but I can only think about his hands trailing all over my body…
“Come on in, Marci.” I watch him glance behind me, then he gives me a private smile that he reserves for when we’re alone.
I step up to the desk, a little jolt of nerves traveling down my arms to my fingertips. I always feel this way, even after everything that’s happened so far between us—he just looks so powerful sitting behind his desk, so in control. Inches from the surface, I stop to place the folder carefully on the desk separating us.
“Here it is, Senator.”
His eyes bore into me, and I feel my face going hot. “You seem distracted today, Marci.” The way he says Marci, he might as well be saying Kitten.
“I am,” I admit. “I can’t stop thinking about—” I resist the urge to look over my shoulder. “I can’t stop thinking about being in your bed.” I drop my voice so that even if someone walked in right now, they’d have no idea what we were talking about. “I can’t stop thinking about that man outside our apartment last night.” My hands tremble a little, and I clasp them together to keep them from shaking harder. “If he was there—”
“This is unacceptable.” The Senator’s voice is so commanding that it startles me, and I can’t stop my eyes from going wide. “You can’t be permitted to let this affect your work. I think you know that.”
“I—I know.” My pussy goes slick at his tone. I think I know what’s coming next, and a strange mixture of desire and dread blooms in my gut. “I’m sorry—” We’re not entirely on professional ground anymore. Is he going to bend me over the desk right now, tell me to lift my skirt, and—
“Unacceptable,” he repeats. “Look at me.” I tear my eyes away from his calendar and look straight into his eyes. “You need to be punished.”