Catfish (Illusive Duet Book 1), page 35
“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Already wet for me. You don’t know what that does to me, Shelton.”
“Wade,” I groan—well, plead. I’m fucking pleading right now. “Don’t tease me here.”
Those lips that did the wickedest and most sensual things to me last night elevate at my plea.
Yeah, I’ve been stroking that giant ego too much.
“Who said anything about teasing?” he asks, imposing closer and standing over me while performing slow circles around the sensitive area of my body. “I’m going to make you come while I swallow every single one of your moans and screams.”
Another full rotation around my clit and his body becomes a barrier for me to close my legs.
I don't want to explain to Emmy why her shit is scattered all over her desk if she comes knocking on the door. Why my face is flush because it's hot in here, I have a very enthralling governor trying to make me come, and my vision is somewhere between blurred and brimmed to the point of being parched for this man.
“You’re making a huge mess in Emmy’s—” Wade places a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“Why are you thinking about my assistant when I’m standing right in front of you, dead focused on your beautiful body and trying to make you fall apart again?”
He inserts two fingers inside me and starts pumping, my hands fly to his suit coat, gripping on to his bicep as he pelts kisses down the column of my neck. His tongue finally makes an appearance, and I can feel myself getting wetter by the second.
My body starts to hum to the rhythm of his hand. The smell of his cologne wafts in my nose and, fuck, I hate his cologne. Everything about him screams power, confidence, and enticing.
Grant never made me feel like this—lost and helpless. There is no cocky remark or words of courage boiling inside my brain. Wade can suck those right from me, eat them up, and use them for himself.
I’m screwed—heavenly and incorrigibly.
Wade makes me lose the ability to think rationally or at all, constructing him to be that much more dangerous to my life.
And Marty’s and Mama’s.
“Still tired?” he mutters into my skin, followed by another brush of his lips.
“Never of this,” I reply. “Just—fuck.” He shoves his fingers deeper inside me, again, making me lose everything I was just about to say.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of you in these fuck-me dresses, and the way your breathing hitches and falls into soft moans. You started all of this, you know?” I nod, fully aware I initiated all of this by kissing him and telling him to not sell himself short.
He’s not.
He’s definitely not selling or bartering any of his skill set off right now.
A low groan permeates from his chest as I hear him work me into a state of senselessness. He’s turned on, I’m exhausted with an adrenaline rush as I rest my forehead on his shoulder.
My hand reaches to help relieve some of the tension he's building between us, but his grip clutches my wrist.
"You can torture me later," he promises. "Right now, I want you, but I can't have you the way I need to, so let me do this. It's a pretty close second, Shelton.” A deep hum leaves his chest. “You don't know what the sounds you make do to me. I want to completely own the fuck out of you." He nuzzles his nose along the pillar of my throat. "You good with that?"
“Only if you promise I can return the favor later,” I whisper, squeezing his arms. “And no—” He bites down on my neck and chases it with a caress of his lips. “Geezus. Stop distracting me.”
“Says the woman who’s been flustering me with her wardrobe choices for weeks.”
“I’ve been wearing them on the allotted days per our contract,” I counter.
“Because you had to wear them.”
“I’m not...trying to do anything to make...oh God…” A growl of approval accompanies my deficiency of being able to complete a sentence as he begins to work my clit harder and faster with his thumb while he adds a third finger.
"You going to come for me, beautiful? All over my hand, so I can lick you off just so I can get some sort of relief?"
“Wade,” I beg—because that’s where I’m at now, folks.
“Mhm?” His kisses become more frantic, full of tongue and lips all over my neck and throat, where he licks a trail up to my chin. His eyes slam into me, jaded in hunger as his mouth collides with mine.
My body is reverberating off a high that only Wade can fulfill for me. I’m so beyond lost, careening towards that state of release, feeling the buildup wanting to break itself free.
And when his tongue tangles with mine again, I break apart against him. He swallows and savors each one of my moans into his mouth like he said he would. Owned me like he promised.
And holy fuck, your girl is so screwed.
♫ Wild World — Cat Stevens ♫
Even states away, I can't stop thinking about Reagan but refrain from texting or calling her.
It's not going to work like that; it can't, not when I just finished yet another Democratic debate, and I still have to stay focused and collected.
Em dragged me to a local bakery for breakfast so we could “accidentally” get caught by the public. We did, filling the place up with people who had questions about my views, telling me they were excited to watch me on TV and that I had amazing eyes—that from a flock of women who eye-fucked me the whole time they were there.
I didn’t mind it.
In fact, I prefer being around ordinary people over the throngs of politicians and my "own kind" because it's what I've always craved—an average day, no rules, and some sort of normalcy.
Minus the cameras.
But right now, I'm standing at an after-party with important people. Senators, mayors, congressmen, the attorney general of Illinois, and whoever else has a hand in making shit happen with their influence and money. It just sinks me back into my reality.
The real one.
Where there is no such thing as Reagan and myself. When I can’t sneak away from the throngs of this party to fuck her in a dark closet or corner while using my senses to make everything that much more enticing.
It’ll never be like that until I’m president. After that, all my plans will finally become real.
“Congressman Lockwood,” exclaims Jim Westgate, the congressman from Minnesota that I was in the middle of speaking to. “It’s great to see you.”
My brows furrow at him until the name sinks in before the recoil of my body starts to develop.
“Jim,” my father greets, his broad hand extending in front of me to shake my current talking companion. My eyes glint to the gray sleeve of my father’s suit, falling onto his black and white peppered hair and the shit-eating grin on his face.
That stands right next to my mother, Nora.
"Wade," she squeals, fake, auditioned, and loud. “You did amazing up there tonight. Your father and I are so proud of you.”
“Outstanding job,” my father adds in, giving my shoulder a slap for added encouragement. “Better speaker than I ever was.”
Because you lied about everything, you dumb son of a bitch.
“We brought you a surprise,” Nora beams, clasping her perfectly manicured hands together. Peering over her shoulder, as if to signal, two more people walk up to our small group.
Two fucking people that I don’t want to see right now—my younger brother and sister.
"You don't mind us stealing Wade from you for a few moments, do you, Jim?" my father presses, but it's more like a polite, subtle order.
Jim holds up both hands. "Not a problem." He turns to me and extends a hand. "It was great meeting you, Governor. All the luck in the world to you on your campaign endeavors."
I give him my thanks—more like it seethes through my teeth—as he takes off, leaving me to the pack of piranhas that is my family.
My eyes slam into my siblings, both appearing fearful like I’m about to order the firing squad to march in here and finish them off.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I snap in a whisper to the both of them.
They know better than to be in the same room as me. The last thing I remember saying to them was more of a promise that I’d fuck their whole world up if we ever crossed paths again when I didn’t summon them.
And just like my mother always does, she coddles them and tries to make them look like weak children without half a fucking brain.
“Wade,” Nora scolds gently. “You haven’t seen them in well over two or three years. The least you can do is ask them how they’re doing.”
“If they’re still under your roof, they aren’t doing so hot,” I retort, bellowing at them with my eyes to get the hell out of here.
Nora’s eyes widen. “What’s that supposed to—”
“Enough with the dramatics,” my father interjects. “It’s time we settle this family shit like a family.”
“Get fucked,” I counter. “I already told you that I didn’t want—”
“You’ll lose this election without the facade of a united front. The press knows we exist, you dumb idiot, and they’ve been calling our house and staff asking why we’re not at your events. Why we weren’t at the last debate and—”
“Because you’re a crock of shit, Henry, and I don’t want you or them—” I point at the two human beings who are testing my everliving patience. “—near me. I’ve said it to you several times, so let me say it again while Mom is here too. I don’t want your help. I don’t need it. I got this far on my own, don’t need you four meddling in my shit.”
“You got where you are because I built our name. I’m the reason you got into politics. My connections got you to where—”
“You killed my dreams,” I fume, flicking my gaze to my sister. “Especially when she helped screw me over, kept shit from me, and almost got me thrown—”
“That’s enough," Nora chides then smooths down the black satin of her dress. "That was years ago. You were both young, immature, and reckless. That's the past, leave it there."
I shake my head. “This little bombarding you’ve planned, it’s worthless.”
“But it’s going to work,” Henry alludes. “We’re going to be with you when you win the Democratic party.”
I glare at him, this back and forth, it’s going to stop when I cease from talking.
I’m not about to sit around a group of legislators and argue with my parents in a crowded hall. Nor am I going to cause any gossip when I’ve done a good-as-hell job keeping it to a minimum so far.
“If you’re going to force yourselves into my shit,” I concede. “Get with Emmy, not me, I’m fucking busy.”
“You’ll have to speak with us,” Nora quips, taking a step closer to me. “You can’t ignore us when—”
"Oh, don't worry, Mother," I retort. "I'll make sure you get all the attention.” I cock my focus to my brother and sister. “Feel free to bring your pills and minor girlfriends, it’ll be a press field day.”
Turning on my heels, I stop so that I’m shoulder to shoulder with my father. “If you ever do this to me again, I’ll make your career the biggest load of shit that Congress has ever seen. Try me, Pops.”
I land a hard slap to his chest and take off to find Em. We’re going home where I can breathe normally again until she comes back to save me.
Reagan: Hey, Yank. I'm starting to think you're a girl with all these sappy ass questions.
Reagan: My perfect morning is not waking up to you already asking me questions. Let me have some coffee first before you start rattling off crap.
Reagan: Have a good rest of your night :) Text me tomorrow!
♫ Last Worthless Evening — Don Henley ♫
"He's ready to see us," Emmy says the moment I walk off the elevator with my planner in hand and papers shoved in my binder with the last bits of details I need to confirm with Wade for the governor's ball. "And he's in a pissed-off mood."
That last bit makes my brows descend.
He was in Chicago with her for three days, doing the debate that I couldn't go to because I have events to host, but it looked as though it went great. His answers were strong and optimistic, one of the most persuasive speakers on the panel.
“Everything okay?” I ask as I step in line with her.
“His parents ambushed him at the after-party,” she replies. “Then he got stuck with a group of feminists that wanted to ask him seventy questions on abortion rights, birth control, the whole nine. Then there was Mrs. Holt…”
My head snaps to her. “Mrs. Holt?”
“Married to one of the congressmen who is about to croak at any minute. She’s in her early twenties, gold digger, tits for days, tries to fuck with Wade at any event she sees him at. Which, thankfully, hasn’t been many.”
A twinge of jealousy pricks up my spine, and I shove that fucker back down because I am not going to mess with that emotion.
“Were they ever an item or—”
Emmy scoffs through her nose. “Hell no.”
I'm beyond satisfied with that answer as Emmy knocks lightly on his door, and Wade bellows for us to come in.
Excitement rushes through me at the sight of him. We haven’t talked since the day we destroyed poor Emmy’s desk and he finished by licking me off his fingers.
Wade sits behind his wide desk, the sun beams in from behind, giving him a glow around his body. He’s dressed impeccably as always—navy Ralph Lauren suit, matching tie and hair perfectly styled while matching the stubble along his jawline that I like so damn much.
“Take a seat, ladies,” he greets, gesturing for the two chairs in front of him but doesn’t look up from his laptop as he loudly hits the keys.
“Did you eat lunch?” Emmy asks him, placing her hot pink notebook on the top of his desk.
“No.”
“You need to.” I notice the tic in his jaw as he continues finishing off whatever he’s doing before closing his laptop.
“Afternoon, Miss Shelton,” he emits, whipping his blue eyes at me. “How is everything going with the governor’s ball?”
I have to admit that I'm taken aback a little from the straight-laced look on his face. The monotone structure of his voice, and I honestly don't know why I should be expecting much at all. It's just that he went from night to day within days of us seeing each other, and I feel like I got a little bit of whiplash.
“Everything is going very well,” I reply. “I just wanted to run some last-minute things by you to make sure everything was how you wanted it.”
He nods. “Sounds good, I’m all ears.” Pushing his laptop back slightly, he waits for me to rattle off what I need to go over with him. Thing is, I want to ask him how everything went at the debate. That I want to be in a room alone with him to just talk like...like what exactly?
I inhale deeply through my nose. Things are getting weird and muddled in my head. I'm not the confident woman that I normally am. I want to fidget in my seat because Wade's blue eyes are locked in on me like he's gazing down a scope, and I'm the target.
"First is the music," I shove from my mouth finally. "Normally, you have a live band, but in the revisions I sent to you, I wanted to use a DJ. I just wanted to make sure you were on board with that."
“Perfectly fine.”
“Great.” I open my binder and pull out the first sheet. “This is the guest list, I don’t need it back until later this week. If there is anyone that you don’t want or have changed your mind about coming, just let me know, I’ll have security take care of it.”
I hand it over to him, and he skims it before placing it down. "I need you to add on my parents and siblings, please. Everything else should be fine, but I'll—"
“Are you sure?” Emmy objects. “Just because they show up to one of your debates and demand that you—”
“I’m sure.”
“But...you know what that—”
“I’m sure, Em,” he drones. “I can handle it, relax.” I can hear the defeat in his voice before Emmy sits back in her chair with a thump, looking all sorts of pissed off. I take it as my cue to continue on.
“This is the menu—” I had him over the next sheet of paper. “—just need you to finalize that as well.”
His brow flies up. “Didn’t I do this already?”
“Once, but—”
“Then why would I have to do it again?”
“Because she’s finalizing everything,” Emmy retorts. “It’s what good party planners do.”
Wade slides the papers I handed him across his desk back in my direction. “The only thing I need to change is adding my parents and siblings to the guest list. Other than that, we’re good.”
Emmy stands from her chair, clearly annoyed. “You’re really making a bad decision, Wade.”
“Leave it be, Em.” He cracks his laptop open again and dismisses her with his lack of attention.
“Then don’t come bitching to me when your mother—”
His now glare flicks back to his assistant. “I won’t. So if you’ll both excuse me, I have shit to do that’s more important than some mediocre ball that no one gives a fuck about.”
A mirthless chuckle hums passed my lips as I rise from my seat. ‘Ole boy isn’t going to talk to me like he’s enamored with me one minute then like I’m totally beneath him in the next. And on top of it—I didn’t seek out this job.
“I’ll come back for the papers, Emmy,” I state, striding for the door. “Make sure you wipe the asshole off them first.”
—
“I promise, Mama, it’ll be soon.”
“I hope so, baby, because this house is too big without you and Marty in it. Have you heard from him?”
I shake my head like she can see it, but I promised him that I wouldn't say anything. "No, not yet."
"I just don't understand why he can't tell us where he is," she frets, and I can see her pacing her kitchen now. "I've heard of military mothers knowing where their sons and daughters were stationed."
