by Alex Elliott
She kisses me, opening her mouth, and moaning. Feather soft her fingers touch my face, then thread into my hair, and she yanks strands. Rough. God, how I hunger for her. The more she pulls, the sharper my craving unfurls to bury my cock in her. Take us both over the edge.
“I have an early morning meeting,” I say hoarsely, cupping her ass cheeks and rubbing my hard-on across the thin material of her shorts. “I won’t be at the office today.”
“Oh,” she says. “Is that why the run and the visit?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t stay away.” My fingers skim the edge of her shorts. I shift my eyes, scanning the alley, and then delve my fingers underneath. “Commando?”
“And freshly waxed. Hope you’re pleased, Senator,” she whispers.
I stroke my finger across her slick flesh as my cock throbs. I’m at the verge of lowering my running shorts, and giving us both the relief we want. “Little tease,” I growl.
“Only until tonight.”
“Your timing...is good. I forgot to tell you last night, when we talked about schedules. Mine. I’ve got an appointment this morning. Something last minute.”
I stare at her. “What?”
She shrugs. “Veep’s doing. Something concerning your visit to Cuba. Breakfast meeting and I imagine it’s more of what occurred yesterday.”
“Who set up the appointment?” I ask, the blood pounding in my temples.
“It was strange. I got a call. I’m embarrassed to say, I don’t know who. Is that a problem?”
“Don’t know.” Should I tell her? I received a mysterious call...mysterious caller. “How are you getting to this meeting?”
“A car is coming for me.”
Fuck! “I received a call. At four this morning. The man, refused to identify himself. I’ve got the address. The Biltmore hotel dining room.”
Her eyes widen. “We’ve been invited to the same meeting?”
“Apparently,” I say, and cup the side of her cheek, lowering my mouth to hers.
X’s hands hook around my neck. She crushes her tits against my sweaty shirt, the feel of her erect nipples graze my chest. I kiss and suck on her lips.
She moans my name, biting on my bottom lip. “Please,” she hisses.
“Give me a taste.” I slide my fingers inside her soft silk. Pure heaven. I pump my arm, thrusting my finger in and out of her, and the twinge in my chest explodes. Groaning across her lips, I ease my hand from between her legs, and curl my fingers over her hips and squeeze. “Xavia, I want you enough to do you right here but this is some shit the Veep’s handing out. I’ve got to get back and deal with it. Virginia has a tendency to put into play off-the-wall to make a point.”
“I can drive you,” she pants, staring up into my face. “Just need the key to my roommate’s car.”
“Naw. The way I feel, the run will do me good, besides isn’t your roommate still under the weather?”
“Brooke’s better. Are we still going to the meeting?”
“Check your calendar. Did the Veep’s communication secretary show you how to link our schedules?”
“Yes. I linked mine with Nora’s so she knows where I am.”
“Not mine?”
“I didn’t have the password. Yours is privacy protected, Senator.”
“I’ll send you an invitation with a link. Then sync us.” I say the words, mesmerized as I stare into X’s eyes. “Give me twenty or so minutes, and I’ll be back at my apartment.”
“How far away do you live?”
“Less than three miles.”
“Cool. Maybe we can jog together.”
I run my palms over her ass cheeks and rub my jaw along her neck. “Name the place. Any time we’re not on the receiving end of the vice president.”
* * *
I’M BACK at my apartment after a full on run, and am gasping, standing in front of the elevators. A few people enter with me, we nod, then we’re all fixated on a cell or a newspaper. Archer’s sent me a response. A shitload of intel that starts with, “Ambassador’s staffer. Works out of Havana. Guess the new embassy is up and running.”
As of two days ago, the U.S. isn’t operating out of the Swiss Embassy in Cuba. Well, I guess the embassy staffer was pulling an all-nighter...still, calling at four. I rake my fingers through my sweat soaked hair, exit the elevator, and enter my apartment. As promised, I log onto the Senate computer server and send X the link to my calendar. She’ll have full access to all my appointments. Makes sense. She’s in charge of the media.
I open my schedule for today and see the entry for the Biltmore. A breakfast meeting that’s been recently added by the Veep’s office. First line item on my agenda today and comes with a reply button. I click ‘accept.’ It looks legit.
I exit and call Xavia. “Let’s go to the meeting and see what’s up. You good with that?”
“Absolutely,” she replies. “I’ll be there. Hope I’m not running late.”
“Get there when you can. You saw how it was on Sunday.”
“Uh, Ben?”
“Baby, we don’t have to do this.”
“That’s not it,” she says in small voice. “The plug.”
I have the last plug in my desk drawer to keep X from experiencing undo discomfort. I clench my jaw. “Same drill as before. You know the rules.”
“I keep it in until tonight?”
“Prepare yourself as we discussed, and you’ll be ready. I promise, I’ll make you lose your mind.”
We hang up, and I toss my phone onto my desk, thinking about Xavia and tonight. What I’ll need. More rules to break. Shit, I pick up my phone, send an encrypted message to my club partners, confirming the Franklin hotel suite is occupied tonight, and shoot a text to Jax about which room X and I will use at the House. Fire lights a line of hunger, racing under my skin to fully possess her.
On a mission, I shower, change, and am inside my car on my way to this impromptu meeting Virginia and the Ambassador’s staff have scheduled within an hour.
Entering the Biltmore, I meet the maître d’s smiling face and relay I’m meeting the vice president. He confirms the reservation, ushering me down a rear corridor, and shows me to a backroom.
“Enjoy, Senator Stone,” he says, opening the door.
Inside I glimpse the sole table within the room—not unusual to meet within a private room, except the table is set with only two place settings.
“Hello, Senator.” A man with a camera slinks from the side of the room where he’s fiddling with a lamp and a light meter. “You’re a little early, but I can get a few with you seated.” He gestures to a chair, and I return my focus to the table, observing the vase of flowers, a crystal decanter of OJ, and a carafe of coffee.
“Is this where we’re meeting?” I unbutton my jacket and extract my cell. Enough is enough. I scroll down my list of calls and find the one from last night.
“Yes. You and Ms. Kennedy are scheduled to eat and the press should be here shortly afterward.”
Holy fuck. Why would the Ambassador’s staff be in on scheduling this sort of press? How many people are about to profit from my ‘friendship’ with X...her grandparents? My work in foreign affairs? The list of questions just keeps getting longer and longer.
“Where are you from?” I retrain my attention to him, but he’s not wearing a press badge, only an irritating smile.
“I’m from Vanity.” He proffers his card. “Vice President Ryan procured McKenzie and me for this shoot.”
“What’s subject of this piece?” I inquire in a ballbuster tone.
“McKenzie...she’s the journalist writing the piece. She’ll explain.”
“Why don’t you try?” I step closer, looking for an advantage to get the photographer to divulge the specifics of what the hell is going on. It’s easy enough to use my height and frame since I’ve got this dude by a good six inches and twenty...thirty pounds of asshole gearing to get out.
“Err...” He stops tweaking his equipment and the smile fades f
rom his face. “Senator, it’s pretty simple. Day in the life theme. One sitting. The piece will run next month. McKenzie will be back to explain. She’s down the hall.” He lifts his camera and snap!
A unique weapon...photographs. I could remind him I haven’t signed a release. Am I prepared to deal with the ensuing backlash? It feels like smoke weaves between my thoughts as I wait for the reporter to return. After a few photographs, he lowers the camera and I meet his gaze. “What’s the name of the piece?”
He shrugs. “Depends on our editor. An ‘American Dynasty’ is being tossed around. We’re doing a timeline on the new generation of Kennedys. I hear that you and Ms. Kennedy are only friends. Care to comment off the record? What’s it like dating a girl with her background and her future?”
“We’re friends,” I retort. “We’re working on the Hill and professionally connected. We’re complicated,” I say in a voice that sounds foreign—as foreign as me trying to explain how deep and entrenched she’s become in my mind—without giving away a clue.
The door opens, but instead of the journalist at the threshold, Xavia pauses there with the maître d’. She and I look at one another and just like before, I want to deny that we can be cast in to a nice, neat category. What would the Vanity feature be if I came clean? Relayed, I’m this young woman’s Dom. I make her do bad things. Very bad and wicked things.
The maître d’ escorts X inside and on a tray, there’s a cordless phone. “Senator.” The man bows slightly. “The vice president. Press line #1 to speak.”
“Come with me,” I say to X as I retrieve the phone.
We need to speak before I deal with Ryan. The duo from Vanity. And anyone else who wants me to tear them a new one. I take hold of her elbow and guide her back a couple of steps into the corridor.
“Welcome to another episode of the Veep transgressing into our lives.”
“I came as fast as I could,” she whispers.
“Let me be the judge of that,” I reply and she gasps.
“What’s going on? Where’s the vice president?”
“I’m not sure about all the details. But inside that room, it’s a magazine interview waiting to happen. You okay with that?”
“An interview. For whom?”
“Vanity is doing an article on your family. Your stepfather’s side.” I lower my voice as a woman—probably the journalist—walks by and then into the room. “I have several unanswered questions and I’m going to find out what this is about.” I press the button on the cordless phone and raise the receiver to my ear. “Virginia?”
No Madam Vice President. No Mrs. Ryan. Nothing but me pissed as shit.
“Senator,” she says, sounding ill-at-ease, and rightfully so. “You made it.”
“Correction. We made it. After you summoned us. What’s going on?”
“We don’t have all year for you to make a move,” she replies, this time her tone is sharper.
“A move. Define that one and why Hackett’s staffer is part of this.”
“We’re friends. I trust Will and he knows how this game is played. He’d like to be more than an Ambassador and he will in my cabinet. We talked about you and Ms. Kennedy, and he’s got connections involving the press. Vanity is doing a story the voters will buy into. But I’m a little worried. Nothing has evolved. It’s going on Wednesday and the State Dinner is next week, and so far you and Ms. Kennedy aren’t doing diddly. Next month you’ll be in Havana. Now, is the time to build your presence with the press.”
“Your timeline is skewed.” Tracing my eyes down the wall in front of me, I laugh bitterly at the stones this woman possesses. I turn toward X. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re working on the Hill.”
“Not on a viable election campaign and that’s my concern.”
“So you just commandeer our lives? Is that it?”
“Bennett, for God’s sake. You and she needed a push and that’s what I did. Consider this a blind date minus being blind. A little behind the scenes adjustment and now, you’re having a lovely breakfast with Ms. Kennedy. Your press secretary I might remind you, and she’s getting her feet wet. Are you aware that I sent Leslie and her team to your office to pave the way for her? Xavia’s set up in the system. Thanks to Will, her name is on every reporter’s lips who works the Hill. By next week, she might need her own press secretary if this catches fire.”
“And how is that a good thing?”
“Because those who love her, will love you. And when you’re my named running mate, we all share the love.”
Staring at Xavia, I can’t believe I’m listening to the vice president spin what X and I have for her political aspirations. My submissive shakes her head and mouths ‘relax.’
I nod and ice my expression. Lockdown what I’m feeling. The irony is...I’m starting to realize that what this girl and I share is something more than dark, twisted, rough sex. I’m falling for her, and no one in the world can know about it. Fuck, I can’t even tell X...unless I’d like to scare the hell out of her.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and level my voice. “Clearly, your ability to manipulate outguns anything else you can say.”
“You said not to manipulate the situation and I swear, I didn’t other than getting you two together for this article which is going to skyrocket our campaign.”
“After this move—I’m not sure,” I reply tightly.
“Well, you’d better decide one way or the other and quickly,” Ryan snaps.
“And why is that? What’s changed?”
“For one, the Stillmans by way of the Citibank PAC have made a substantial contribution benefitting our campaign in the last twenty-four hours. Yesterday evening, Grace called me and she’s prepared to make several sizable contributions to a number of our super PACs when you announce that you’re running. They’re tickled pink to think that their granddaughter is now a press secretary to the future vice president. I can’t reiterate how much support they offer. It’s not a one-time contribution. Patrick is preparing a press release of his intention to back us. You do understand how important this is, but need I remind you, not just for us? Ms. Kennedy’s career is about to take off. This is one of those life changing moments. Are you going to stand in her way?”
I swing my gaze to X. Ryan’s played the perfect move. “I get it. Exactly what do you expect will occur here this morning?”
“You’re eating breakfast with Ms. Kennedy, and this is an innocent date. Just go with the flow. I’d like to speak with her.”
I cup my hand over the cordless phone and whisper, “This is a date. Arranged by the Veep’s office—” Before I can also add the shit about her grandparents’ political contribution, X touches my arm.
“The vice president is playing fairy godmother to us?”
That’s not the Veep-broom-flying visual running through my brain, but I nod. “Seems like it. Does it make you want to cut bait and run for the hills?”
“Not at all.” She laughs up at me, cocking her head toward the doorway. “I bet the food is good here. And we can make this whatever we want it to be. This is wonderful press for you...for your campaign. Right?”
Not just mine. I refocus on her and her exquisite crystal blue eyes. “Probably.”
“Then trust me,” she says, and winks.
“By the way, Ryan would like to speak with you.”
“I’ve got this.” She takes the phone out of my hand. “Hello, Madam Vice President. Thank you for the invitation. Is there anything you’d like us to specifically address? With the senator’s upcoming trip, we can talk about the economy, Caribbean trade, or the underground rock group, tearing up Havana. La Vida.”
Chapter 13
BEHIND THE DOOR
INSIDE THE garage, I swipe my unrestricted staffer ID that was hand-delivered from the Veep’s office. The magnetic card comes with elite green badge privileges, and the guard nods from the glass-enclosed cubicle as the security arm lifts. Today blasted by and in a few hours, I’ll see Bennett. Be enfol
ded in his warm arms, his muscular body, and his voice commanding me. There’s nothing to get jumpy about—beyond the hot, hard public sex.
Righttt!
Better to stay focused on thinking about my day as I exit the garage. Brooke is improving according to the prognosis Jon reported. I’m on target insofar as Senate press assignments. If the eagle eyes of the Veep or her PR crew peruse my calendar, they’d better be impressed how I’m carving a path through my agenda—one they’ve help stuff to the gills. By this afternoon, I blazed through the communications meeting with other staffers both from our office and those of the other congressional members on the Hill. Completed the assignment Nora gave me to update our online presence, and then met with a small group of reporters. My first press briefing, and initially, I was all thumbs, spilling my water bottle—but I got through it. After the near meltdown I witnessed involving Ryan and Bennett this morning, I needed to end the day on a positive note from an accomplishment that feels authentic.
Early afternoon traffic, and this time, I don’t rely on the GPS to find my way back—well not all the way back to the apartment building.
“So, how was your day?” I ask, entering the condo and regard a vase of flowers sitting in front of Brooke on the cocktail table. My gaze snaps to an envelope with her name and a card...that’s crumpled. “Those are amazing.”
“My day was totally productive. And the flowers...they’re nice,” she informs me in a clipped tone.
She’s on the receiving end of oodles of flowers. Has been since high school. I don’t know if they’re distinct as in related to the here and now, or another routine gesture from a current admirer in play. Her being blasé isn’t indicative one way or the other.
“There’s nice. And then there’s nice,” I reply.
“These are just nice.” She grimaces, tapping her pen along her jaw as her gaze flits to the roses. “I don’t have time to screw around. Big exam tomorrow on torts.”
“Okay. Well, I’ve got a meeting tonight,” I say, judging if she’s really all right, or are there some tells she’s giving off. Nonverbals I can latch onto and uncover what lies underneath her sudden one-eighty revolution from D.C. party girl to book-cracking law student. I’m searching for a sign that gives me hope her newfound desire to buckle down is more than her reaction to tragedy.