Vetting The Senator

by Alex Elliott

  She walks on, and I turn to him. “Without question, Cuba is lovely. I’ll discuss the trip with her, and get back to you.”

  As far as I’m concerned the arrangements are fixed. I’ll discuss nothing besides giving X a directive to pack a bag with a few string bikinis I expect to see her in as she tempts me into oblivion right before we make love... Make love? My mind blanks. Diaz is talking but all I’m doing is assessing when did my sub and I go from hardcore fucking to making love.

  * * *

  I’M RUNNING late to pick up Xavia. The traffic sucks but it’s better than being stuck in the back of a chauffeur driven car. I swing onto her street and park in front of her apartment building. I’m not going to ring her to come down; tonight, I’m going up to her door. A tip to the doorman, and I’m good, riding up in the elevator with a bouquet of flowers; not my usual style but I can’t help smiling.

  At her door, I ring the bell, and slide a glance down the hall. This place is upscale—modern to a T. Everything from lighting fixtures to the hardware on the doorways to the moldings all scream obscene wealth.

  X’s door opens and I expect to meet crystal blue eyes, preparing for the customary twinge that knifes my chest, but instead I’m faced with the sardonic stare of her roommate.

  “Hello,” I say.

  “Well good evening, Senator,” the young woman replies, lifting a brow, and beckoning me inside. “C’mon in.”

  “You’re Brooke.” I confirm—not that I have to.

  “That I am. Care for a drink?”

  “Thanks.” I follow her from the foyer into a living room that I’ve had the pleasure of watching from downstairs through binoculars. Strange to see the interior of X’s apartment from this side and it’s different. Larger than I imagined. The terrace doors come into view and I narrow my eyes, recalling how many minutes I spent watching those fuckers, waiting to capture a glimpse...then everything in the place recedes.

  “What do you think?” X seems to float into the room dressed in an ivory-colored gown that molds to her body. Two thin straps hold the thing up, showcasing her incredible tits. Her hair is piled atop her head, artistically arranged, and far different than she appeared not three hours ago.

  This tux suddenly feels a size too small as I stare at her and wonder if there’s any possibility she’d let me do her—make her scream my name—I must be insane.

  “I think you’re going to drive me mad,” I whisper, coming up to her side, and dipping my head toward her ear. I graze my lips along her cheek, kissing her for far too brief a moment. If her roommate wasn’t staring daggers into me, I’d crush X to me, and properly kiss her in a way befitting a submissive who I fully intend on... Doing what with?

  “Do you approve?”

  In lieu of choking out how much, I nod. “Here. These are for you.”

  “These roses are gorgeous. Thank you.” She sweeps the flowers out of my hands, and now that I have nothing to grab hold of, I’m even more conscious of how out of control my craving is to touch her. Run my fingers along her exposed shoulders, stripping off the straps of her dress, unsheathing her until she’s bare, adorned only in the sub collar she wears as a symbol of who she is in relation to me.

  Mine.

  All fucking mine.

  The loop of shiny platinum lies in perfect contrast to her luminescent satin skin. Hard versus soft—like us.

  Since seeing her in my office earlier and having decided that she’s coming with me on my upcoming trip, I’ve hungered for a moment alone with her.

  “What’s your poison, Senator?” Brooke asks, sliding open a panel and revealing a wet bar, forcing me out of fantasyland. Trip eight hundred and eleven.

  “Call me Bennett,” I reply. “Scotch. Straight. If you have it.”

  She picks up a glass. “We do. X? Anything?”

  “A glass of wine,” she says and cocks her head. “I better put these in some water.”

  As she retreats into the kitchen, I walk to the terrace doorway, curious to see the interior of the apartment from my usual perspective. When I turn, it looks much more familiar from this angle. And better when X reenters with the flowers arranged in a vase that she places on the entry table. My gaze falls to the cocktail table, to another arrangement of flowers. A lighter variation of red roses, slightly wilted in a vase, and I question if they belong to Brooke. Of course they’d have to—then why am I still entertaining a doubt. When I look up, I realize that X and Brooke are both looking at me, and I cross to the bar, where the drinks await.

  “To a spectacular evening,” I say, lifting my glass.

  X takes hers and Brooke lifts a bottle of curious looking juice with tiny pearls held in suspension of what I have no idea. Unusual for a cocktail, but then again, what do I expect from a young woman whose father is renowned as one of the wealthiest men on the planet?

  “So a State Dinner?” her roommate asks, tapping my glass with her bottle.

  “Yep.” I sip my scotch, relishing the slow burn that clears my head, loosening the knots along my neck as I reach out and draw Xavia to me.

  X murmurs, “D.C. dinner and dancing. My first.”

  Brooke quirks a brow but doesn’t say more on the matter. I temper my hands, reminding myself we aren’t alone. I’m holding my breath, aware of X’s every movement—every nuance displayed across her features as she goes from sipping her wine to meeting my unrelenting gaze, to tracking when her roommate wanders over to the L-shaped sectional. I should say something, converse so that the nonsense streaming through my head has some release, but for once I can’t push aside this brooding feeling I have of wanting X all to myself.

  She tips her glass, not quite finishing her wine, but sets the flute with finality on the bar. “Guess we should leave. How was traffic?”

  “Remarkably awful,” I reply dryly.

  “How unusual,” Brooke comments from the sofa where she’s taken up residence along with her laptop and a stack of textbooks by her side.

  “Studying?” I force levity into my tone in lieu of surprise. “What’s the course?”

  “Constitutional law. Disputes to be exact.”

  “Ah. Discrimination?”

  “First Amendment rights.” Barely a whiff, yet her lips do curl. She juts her chin over to X. “Something this one and her friend never tire talking about.”

  “Comes with the turf. If you have questions, call me. It’s not been that long since I’ve done my lawyering routine.”

  “Thanks,” she says without all the edge this time. “If I get stuck, I might.”

  I wave. “Nice meeting you.”

  “Likewise, Sen—I mean... Bennett,” she shifts gears smoothly, and when she glances over to X, her face softens. “Have a wonderful time. Tell your grandparents ‘hello’ from me. If they start with their shenanigans, just set ‘em straight.”

  “Will do,” X says. For a half a second, my little sub’s features harden. Until she meets my gaze and smiles, picking up a wrap.

  “Let me,” I say, taking the silky material from her fingers, and allowing those two words to hang suspended as we come together yet must remain a fixed distance apart.

  It’s not like I want to ravish her—well I do—but this feeling is farther reaching. I want to be with her. All the time and not just hardcore fucking. Doing things...like running, talking, laughing. At this moment, I long to wrap X in arms and tell her, “It’s going to be all right tonight.” I turn her around, staring down into her beautiful face, and present my arm.

  Outside her door, there’s a couple coming down the hall. There goes my plan of kissing X. I’m tongue-blocked. I grit my teeth as we walk to the elevator. When the doors start to open, I exhale, only to almost groan when inside there’s not one person but four. A family, and they’re loud. Chattering nonstop. By the time we arrive on the ground floor and exit the elevator, it’s like a starting gun just fired. I hustle her through the lobby and across the sidewalk.

  “What’s the rush?” she asks breathless
ly. “Are we that late?”

  “It’s not that.” We’re standing by my car. I reach around her and open the door, pressing my chest against her arm. God, she smells incredible. We’re curbside, and us dressed in a tux-n-gown combination—yeah, we’re getting more than a few stares. I lower my voice as I guide her slightly forward, closer to me. “Look, I don’t care what time we get there or if at all.”

  As I open the door wider, we’re pressed tighter, and I wonder why I’m struggling to keep up the walls, when all I desire is right in front of me.

  “Do you have a thing for cutting out at the drop of a hat?”

  She’s referring to our first hook up at the dance club. “That only happened once because you were so incredibly hot.” Holy fuck. Best wrong memory. I drop my gaze from hers that sees way too much. I need to get my shit together, not ogle X’s perfectly suckable tits. It’s taking everything I’ve got at the moment.

  “Yes. You were saying?” She crosses her arms across her chest.

  I rapidly look up at her face as she arches a brow. “We’re going to see your grandparents and I just want you to realize, Brooke’s not the only person who gives a flying rat’s ass. I’m not the Veep’s errand boy. My career on the Hill isn’t going to dry up and disappear. I’ll ace my re-election, and being a senator is just fine. With the committees I chair, I deal with enough foreign policy, intelligence BS, and your favorite, the armed forces, to worry that my work here is done.” I don’t mention my thoughts that North can kiss my ass with his demented offer. He’s a lame duck and he’ll be out in a year, and what he does in his dungeon—I couldn’t care fucking less.

  Her eyes go wide. “I never said—”

  Pressing my finger to her lips, her breath comes out soft.

  “One word...one look, and we’ll leave. Okay?”

  “Yep. You got it.” She laughs, slowly sinking down onto the passenger seat, and giving me a show of her shapely calves as she lifts her gown, swinging her feet inside the car.

  And here we are again, staring into each other’s eyes. What is it she wants—what is it that I want...that we can have together?

  * * *

  WE ARRIVE at the tents set up on the South Lawn, giving our IDs to the White House security, and I mentally prepare myself for the night ahead. Fingerprint scanners are used to verify us and then our names are announced as we enter the enormously constructed ballroom. There’s music playing and I greet those I recognize, spying Jax standing next to North as they converse with Raul Castro and his wife. Virginia and the Secretary of Defense are off to the right, talking with the U.S. ambassador of Cuba, and several embassy people in what is probably one more conversation on the status of the Guantanamo Bay detention camp. If I was alone, I’d beeline it over to discuss the ‘gitmo’ up one wall and down another. But there will be enough time when X and I visit.

  “Uh-oh. Show time.” X squeezes my arm. “Grandparents alert. Three o’clock.”

  I glance over to my right and sure enough, I get an eyeful of Stan and Grace Stillman, staring at me like I’m about to give them good news. They wait on us rather than walk forward as they converse with a small group of likeminded power brokers. Her grandmother is of the same build as Xavia with similar porcelain perfect features, and those eyes. Not as crystal light as X’s, but the shape is the same. In her day, people more than likely classified her as a knockout. Stan Stillman is only slightly shorter than me, but reed thin. His dark eyes are set in a ruddy complexion that contrasts with his head of snow-white hair and a large, elaborate mustache. He smiles easily and laughs in regular intervals, while Mrs. Stillman stoically surveys the room in a measured hopscotch.

  “Pop and Gran,” X says, “May I present the Honorable Bennett Stone. U.S. Senator for Georgia.”

  “Senator Stone. What a pleasure.” Mrs. Stillman holds out her hand that I take and lightly pump.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Stillman,” I say as I release her fingers, and then shake X’s grandfather’s hand, that he curls firmly around mine. “This is an honor to meet you both.”

  “Thank you. We’ve heard nothing but glowing reports about you, Senator Stone. And more so now, since you’ve got the staffer of the century on your team,” Mr. Stillman answers, smiling over to X.

  “We’ve been following you of late,” Mrs. Stillman cuts in.

  Xavia’s grandfather pats her shoulder. “You and the senator. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. What a lovely couple you two make. Reminds me of Patrick and your mother.”

  She smiles at him. “I’m very aware that you speak with Virginia Ryan on a regular basis. I hope you’re not talking her ears off.”

  “Xavia, dear.” Mrs. Stillman arches her brow. “We just want to say how much we admire Senator Stone. You’re all over the news. Youngest senator to take office. Pages and pages on Google. Everything from magazine covers to striking a deal with Castro’s minister...in record time. And you’re off to Cuba next month. Could be worse, am I right, Senator?”

  X’s grandmother wastes no time with idle conversation. She resembles a shark with her bump-and-bite technique. Any second, I expect her to come at me with her teeth fully exposed. Wait ‘til she hears that X is coming with me to Cuba. I give a curt nod and force a smile to my lips.

  We stand and talk, and her grandparents give the term intensely self-absorbed a new spin. For as overt and potentially vicious as Grace is, her husband is the true force to reckon with in understated terms. His well-spaced observations about the economy, questions about if we’re relaxing our trade policies in the Caribbean, and my responses fuel him to discreetly circle around to a point concerning Cuba’s financial future which I can’t disclose. Stan has me on my toes as I lay down a trail of informational breadcrumbs, observing which he targets. I’m interested in determining his relationship to North. Hearing the announcement that dinner will be served soon, the Stillmans decide to seek out the bar, and ask if we’d like to join them. I exhale—this feels like a subversive grind session, bordering on sparring. From what I can tell, Stillman is interested in the future of Cuba—to an extreme degree.

  “Not this time. We still have to check in for seating arrangements.” Xavia glances up to me and I nod in agreement.

  “Why worry? It’s not like you need to get a wrist band,” her grandmother remarks.

  “Gran, there are protocols in place and this is our place of employment.” X glances between her grandparents.

  “Princess, we understand.” Mr. Stillman laughs. “We’ll meet you back at the table in a few minutes.”

  Her grandmother shoots her husband a less than bemused glare as he guides her away. In turn, I lead X along the perimeter of the tent, toward the head staffer for the chief usher in charge of directing guests to tables where I see two of my partners from the House. Troy and Wesley are standing in the queue. Both Doms and they have no clue that Xavia’s my submissive.

  As soon as we approach, they stop talking. Their eyes grow wide in their idiot heads as they take in my date and I feel a distinctive growl work up my throat. I tighten my fingers along her elbow, and contemplate if it’s too late to backtrack.

  “Well, look who it is,” Wesley scoffs as his voice trails off.

  I catch the direction of his gaze, which isn’t on my face or Xavia’s but somewhere lower on her body. Shit, even though I tell myself the collar she’s wearing around her neck could be a simple piece of jewelry—it isn’t. Sure if it were made of black-leather with a D-ring then there’d be no mystery that she was more than my date. They weren’t at the submissive claiming ceremony—and these two cocksuckers don’t know dick. I’m caught between wanting to broadcast that X is my submissive, as well as needing to hide that one dirty little detail. Without a solution, my extreme possessiveness twists within me in frustration.

  “Senator Wesley Anderson and Congressman Troy Shepard, may I present Xavia Kennedy. My—” I falter. Once again, we’re treading new territory and, fuck me! Once again, X and I didn’t discuss how I’d introduce her
. Me, putting my foot into my mouth on the subject of trying to categorize who and what we are...no way am I going to do that again.

  “Date. I’m Senator Stone’s date,” she supplies sweetly.

  “Ms. Kennedy.” Troy extends his hand to her. “It’s an honor.”

  As they shake, Wes laughs. “Wish I had a date,” he says, and motions to Troy. “Besides this moron.”

  “What can I say?” Troy cocks his head toward the dancefloor filled with couples. “I don’t let him lead during the waltz.”

  “Good luck in finding another partner, but this one is taken.” Covetously, I pull X a fraction closer. Obviously, they’ve dropped the ceremonious veneer in her presence and are being themselves.

  “Times have changed.” Wes nods toward X in approval. “Fantastically. Ms. Kennedy, the pleasure is mine.”

  “Gentlemen, laying it on thick,” I scoff.

  “When we can.” Wes chortles. “We’re politicians in case you missed that memo. And besides, Ms. Kennedy is charming and popular. We read the papers same as anyone.”

  “You’re treading on thin ice,” I warn him with the narrowing of my eyes.

  Even though Wes and Troy weren’t present at the House that first night, they sure as fuck heard the news that I’m back and claimed a sub—not in any routine fashion. What in the hell are my fellow Doms thinking? That I’m playing Ms. Kennedy in how the press is spinning our relationship...or do they suspect she’s the one?

  “Pleasure meeting you both, Senator. Congressman,” X replies. “Nice work on the epidemic forum.”

  “Ah, looks and brains.” Wes flirts with X. “May I steal you for a dance, Ms. Kennedy? I’d be happy to extrapolate on the subject of infectious disease and social responsibility.”

  “Feel free to tell him to kiss off,” Troy interjects. “I do. All the time. What we did was routine.”