The Kiss Thief(27)
He was not my playmate. He was my monster.
Wolfe picked up our entwined hands and brought them level with my chin. I watched in fascination as his dark, big hand enclosed my ivory, small one. Little, black hairs peppered each finger above his knuckles, and his arms were veiny, tan, and thick. Yet somehow, our size difference didn’t look ridiculous.
My heart stammered in my chest as Senator Keaton bent his head down, his lips brushing my ear.
“Now clean the mess you’ve created. By evening, you will be given a new laptop connected to WiFi and a Northwestern brochure. By night, you will have your dinner and a snack. And tomorrow morning, after breakfast, you will practice the piano and shop for a dress that will make our guests foam at the mouth. Am I understood?”
He was crystal clear. But I chose to pull away, bat my eyelashes, and answer him with one of the taunting smirks he was so fond of. I lacked real power in the situation between us, so sarcasm didn’t cost me a thing, and I found I had it in spades.
I brushed past him and strode away, leaving him alone in his walk-in closet.
“For someone who doesn’t negotiate, you just went pretty far.”
He chuckled behind me, shaking his head.
“I’m going to bury you, Nemesis.”
I TUGGED AT THE NEW yellow tie, tossing it on the floor.
Too calm.
I slid a green one from the rack, wrapping it over my neck before thinking better of it.
Too chirpy.
I plucked out a silky black velvet one and pressed it against my white shirt.
Perfect.
My sexual frustration was getting the best of me. I could barely walk straight without thinking of dipping my cock into the nearest open mouth in my vicinity. It’d been days since the last time I sank my dick in a wet pussy, and the last encounter with the fairer sex was lackluster, to say the least.
Emily, of course, was a magnificent bore to fuck. Just a tad more responsive than a corpse and possessing around the same amount of charm. Although, in her defense, I was more invested in fucking the rage out of my system than making it bearable for either of us. She was pathetic enough to fake an orgasm, and I was screwed-up enough to pretend I didn’t notice.
It took me one second from the moment I laid eyes on Francesca and the blue-eyed Bandini at the wedding to realize that they were already halfway into their foreplay, whether they knew it or not. Her eyes, even in the darkened niche, zinged with such intensity, the thought of dragging her across the ballroom and fucking her on the royal couple’s table as punishment crossed my mind. But acting jealous and possessive was 1.) Not in my nature and, 2.) Unconstructive to my final goal. Besides, since when was I into teenagers? It was therefore counterproductive to let them have one last rodeo. If I tainted it, I couldn’t get attached to it.
So, I let Bandini stain it for me.
Thoroughly.
Now Nemesis surprised me by wanting exclusivity. I supposed she would figure out, after weeks of being fucked rough and ruthlessly, that the arrangement was not in her interest and send me on my way to the nearest available mistress. Kristen, of course, was no longer an option, since she tried to run the piece about my engagement to Rossi. Consequently, Kristen got demoted from senior reporter to researcher. I called her editor and informed him that the lovely blonde he’d hired fresh out of Yale a decade ago was getting in bed with the wrong type of people.
The people whose lives she was covering.
Mine.
It was Friday night, and time for the big charade. Secretary of Energy Bryan Hatch was coming over with his wife to discuss his support in my future campaign. I had nearly six full years to serve as a senator, but the objective was clear: Presidency. It was, admittedly, part of the reason Miss Rossi was now the proud owner of one of the most expensive engagement rings in the state. Adjusting my image from someone who shoved his cock into enough mouths to silence the better half of the nation to the savior of a mob princess would earn me some much-needed points. Her noble upbringing was a nice touch as a first lady, too. Not to mention, I’d mercilessly kill her father’s business in the process, despite my so-called affection toward my wife.
They’d call me a martyr, and she’d never be able to call me on my bullshit.
I tied my newly bought black tie and scowled at the mirror in front of me. The walk-in closet had been thoroughly cleaned and the ruined items replaced. I patted the depth of my drawer for the framed picture I’d been looking at every time I needed to remember where I came from, and where I wanted to go.
It wasn’t there.
Slowly, I pulled the drawer all the way out until it was fully opened. The photo still wasn’t there. Francesca either destroyed it or took it with her. My money was on the former since she was positively certified after finding out I’d fucked her boyfriend’s latest toy. Was she expecting me to watch her publicly grind over another man’s cock and hand her a condom? Either way, she’d taken it too far.
I stormed out of my room, stalking my way to the east wing. Sterling jumped in my way down the hall just as she exited her own room. She flung her arms in the air, cackling like a happy hen.
“Your fiancée is looking ravishing, Senator Keaton! I cannot wait for you to see how beaut…” She did not complete the sentence. I bulldozed past her wordlessly, straight to Francesca’s room. Sterling stumbled after me before I barked, “Don’t you even dream about it, you old hag.”