Campaigning for Christopher (24 page)

She reached for the pencil holding her bun in place and slid it soundlessly from her thick, black hair, then let it drop from her fingers, listening as it plunked to the floor and rolled away.

Her chest heaved against her thin white blouse, and she reached for the first button, but was stopped by his fingers covering hers.

“No, sweetheart. That’s my job.”

She slid her hand away from his, over her breast, lingering on its softness, cupping the fullness of it, her pebble-hard nipple boring into her palm.

“Jesus,” he groaned, staring down at her hand massaging her breast as his fingers worked to bare her to him.

One button. Another. She ran her thumb over the concealed, distended flesh as he smoothed the blouse over her shoulders. It caught where she covered it, but he slipped his hand under hers, under her blouse, under her bra, the heat of his palm covering her straining, puckered skin. She lifted her hand, and the blouse fell away.

Reaching behind, she unfastened her bra and wiggled just enough for it to skim down her arms, revealing Christopher’s hand caressing her bare breast.

Their eyes had adjusted to the dim light coming through the windows of his living room, and she stared into his as she felt his second hand reach for her other breast, teasing the erect bead.

A fire was building inside her, burning hotter and hotter as he touched her so intimately, and she whimpered his name as he bent his head and sucked her nipple between his lips.

“Chris,” she cried, flattening her hands on his chest, arching her back, pressing her pelvis against his cock, which was swollen and hard beneath the thin barrier of his pants.

His tongue circled her turgid flesh, licking and flicking, his lips sucking until she thought she would die from the intensity of the sensation, and then he skimmed his lips across her chest and did the same to her other nipple. Circling. Licking. Sucking as her hands buried deep in his hair, fisting and pulling as she let her head fall back and moaned his name.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “You’re so sensitive. And your skin, it’s so warm, Jules. Like sun-warmed honey.”

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she panted in short, shallow gasps as she looked at him, as her trembling fingers slid to the tiny black tuxedo buttons on his shirt. His palms reached up for her breasts, covering them, his thumbs drawing lazily against her damp, sensitive nipples as she worked to bare him to her.

With one last lingering caress, he raised his arm and unbuttoned one wrist, then the other, pulling his shirt from his waistband and shrugging it to the floor.

Holding out his hand, his voice was rough when he said, “Come with me.”

“Yes.”

Leading her through the darkened apartment, they walked through his living room into a back hallway and through a door. She was in his bedroom. She knew it because it smelled like a concentrated version of Chris. Starched cotton. Soap. Clean man. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, memorizing the smell, almost dizzy from it.

“This is your room,” she said.

His arms came around her, pulling her close, crushing her breasts against his chest, skin to skin at last.

“Yes. Is this okay?”

“No,” she said, pressing her lips to his shoulder before taking the lobe of his ear between her teeth. “It’s not okay. I want more.”

***

The vibration of her voice against the tender skin of his ear made a white-hot shiver shoot like a bullet from his ear, down his neck, sluicing down his spine before slipping around his hips and burying itself, with precision, in his already-rock-hard dick. He groaned from the intensity of it, from how the combination of her voice and her teeth could double his desire, when he didn’t know that lust this blinding was actually possible.

“Jules, Jules, Jules,” he murmured, reaching for her cheeks. “I want you naked.”

“Then make me naked,” she answered.

He hadn’t expected her to be such a bold lover, but it pitched his arousal even higher. His hands landed greedily on the waistband of her skirt, feeling his way to the zipper in the back and yanking it down. He slipped his fingers into the waistband and pushed, watching as it pooled around those ridiculously sexy high heels.

Stepping back from her, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, shoving them and his boxers to the floor. Toeing off his shoes, he stood before her, completely naked, his erection jutting out proudly.

She took two steps back from him and slid her fingers into her panties, whisking them over her hips and letting them fall to her ankles.

Putting her hands on her waist, she finally stepped out of her shoes, and her eyes, which had been level with his all night, looked up at him through lowered lashes.

Christopher held out his hand, relieved when she took it, and walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling her between his legs. She stepped into him, against him, cradling his cock against the softness of her belly.

“Are you on the pill?” he asked.

She nodded as he put his arms around her waist.

“I haven’t been with anyone in months, since my campaign started.”

She laughed softly. “I haven’t been with anyone in years.”

“That’s about to change.”

“I’m sorry, Chris,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry for how it started between us. I wish—”

“It started before that,” he interrupted, lacing his hands on the small of her back, “The first time I ever saw you, I thought you were the sexiest, most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. You were throbbing with so much life, you blew lovely out of the water. I wanted you the moment I saw you. I’ve wanted you every single second since.”

He pulled her closer, urging her onto his lap, wanting to feel the softness of her body sink down over the hardest part of his, but she hesitated. She reached up slowly, framing his face with her hands, her eyes sad as she looked down into his. “That night, you told me that my eyes were like the night sky . . . the universe . . . the heavens and a million stars.”

He took a deep breath because he had no recollection of saying these words, though they resonated with him. “I don’t remember.”

“I do.” She swallowed. “You asked me before
how
I knew I loved you. You didn’t ask me when.”

“When?” he murmured.

“That was the moment it began,” she said, her eyes flooding with glistening tears. “You didn’t know it at the time, but you were saying my name . . . m-my Indian name. Wichahpi Mapiya. Little Star in the Big Sky.”

“Last Friday at Bartram’s Garden,” he said, scooching back on the bed as she braced her hands on his shoulders and climbed onto his lap. “What did you say to me?”

She raised herself up, and he reached down, positioning the head of his sex at the opening of her body before dropping his hands to her waist.

“
Thečhíȟila
.”

“Tell me—ah, Jules!” He sucked in a deep breath as she started lowering herself onto his cock, inch by swollen inch of his flesh sucked up into her body, which surrounded him like a glove, hot and slick, pulsing and trembling around him as she moaned softly.

“Tell me what it means,” he ground out, holding her hips as he leaned forward to press his lips to her throat, her neck, her chest, skimming them along the hot skin until he rested his forehead on her shoulder.

Finally impaled on his shaft, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her breasts flush against his chest as her head fell back. “It means . . .”

He pushed upward, groaning as her muscles fisted around him, exquisitely tight. “Tell me.”

“Chris,” she moaned, “it feels so good . . . so good.”

Cupping her ass, he stood up, holding her, still intimately connected to her, and turned around. Kneeling on the bed, he lowered her gently to the mattress, and her ankles locked around his back as he braced his elbows on either side of her head, hovering over her.

He pulled almost all the way out of her, then thrust back inside, mesmerized by the sound of her satisfied moan. His hand trailed between their bodies, over her shoulder, caressing her breast, slipping over the soft curves of her belly, to stroke the close-cut curls between her legs. He slipped his fingers into the slick valley and found her clit, rubbing it carefully, petting it, circling it, holding himself still within her as she writhed beneath him, her back arching, her hips flexing.

“Chris, I’m so . . . I’m so close . . .”
“Wait for me,” he whispered, kissing her lips, stroking her clit, moving within her slowly, tenderly, his heart beating out of his chest with the force of his feelings.

“I can’t . . . I need to . . .”

“Tell me what it means,” he said through panted breaths, though he’d bet his soul he already knew the answer. The truth was, he wanted to hear the words. He wanted to hear her say it as they climaxed together.

“It means . . .” Her breathing was ragged and fast, whimpers and moans wrenching from her throat. “I love you!”

The words ripped from her lips in a cry as she began convulsing around him, and Chris, who had puzzled over the moment love happens, thrust one last time into her sweet body, and cried her name—“Jules!”—like a vow, like a pledge, like the first step into forever. 

Waking up in the warm, safe cocoon of Chris’s strong arms made tears of happiness spring into Julianne’s eyes.

Her body hummed with awareness, cataloging all the places that his body touched hers—his muscular legs entwined with hers; his semierect sex pressed against her backside; his chest, with its smattering of black hair, pressed against her back; and his breath, warm on her neck, making her lightly shiver. She refused to move, keeping her breathing as controlled as possible, determined to linger a little longer in the perfection that was last night before acknowledging it was morning.

After the first time they’d had sex, Chris had left her for a moment, returning with a warm washcloth and gently cleaning the evidence of their lovemaking from her inner thighs. It was a tender and thoughtful gesture that made her heart burst with love for him, made her pull him back into her arms, urging him back into her body. But he’d insisted on loving her with less urgency, taking his time, stroking her into a frenzy before sliding inside her body to join her climax. They slept for a while then, but Julianne woke up hours later in the darkness, wanting him again. Scooting under the covers, she took him in her mouth, sucking the length of his sex into granite until he awoke with a gasp and dragged her up his body, holding her hips as she straddled him, sheathing his velvet steel deep within her body. As she whimpered her pleasure, he came quickly in a guttural groan that made shivers race down her back, and they finally passed out in a sated, naked heap, tangled together until morning.

Part of her worried that after such a beautiful and life-changing night, his feelings for her—which were strong but underdeveloped—might change. That part of her didn’t want to wake up. That part wanted last night to last forever.

“I know you’re awake,” he whispered.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter and sighed. “No, I’m not.”

He chuckled softly near her ear, his growing erection nudging her bottom. “Jules, you’re the worst liar ever.”

She fake-snored, nestling back into him, which made him twitch, hardening against her.

He groaned. “Unless you want me inside you in a hot minute, I advise you to keep that delectable ass still.”

Opening her eyes, and grinning fiendishly at him in the mirror on the back of his bathroom door, she ground her body into his, circling her hips and moaning softly.

With his eyes locked on hers in the mirror, his hands, which were laced beneath her breasts, began to roam.

“I warned you,” he growled, biting her ear.

One hand crept up to cover her breast, capturing her nipple between his fingers and squeezing until she half whimpered, half moaned. His other hand flattened on her belly, holding her in place. Anticipating him, Julianne scissored her legs open as she leaned forward on his arm. She felt the head of his sex seek entry, pushing forward, filling her as she closed her eyes and let out a long sigh of pleasure.

Deeply lodged within her, Chris stilled, resting his forehead against her neck, his breath coming in pants as she reached behind to hold his head. Her body rested on his arm, but his hand reached up to clasp her breast, while his other hand slid down to her thigh, grasping it to spread her open wider.

His thrusts, which had started slow, quickened now, and she felt the gathering in her lower belly. Heat. Tingling. The promise of more glorious pleasure wrought from his godlike body.

“Chris,” she sighed.

“Open your eyes,” he said near her ear, and she opened them, reaching for the bedsheet and pulling it down to reveal their joined bodies reflected in the mirror. “Look at us.”

Her body, full and flushed, moved rhythmically with his thrusts, the muscles of his body bunching and releasing with each stab of his hips.

Overwhelmed with the sheer eroticism of them fucking, she felt her inner muscles start to tense, compressing into tight coils. She clenched onto him, and he groaned into her ear, a guttural growl of pleasure as she let go, crying out his name as stars burst behind her eyes.

His hands tightened on her breast and thigh as he rammed into her body one final time before releasing himself, his hot, slick tribute flooding her body in potent spurts as she spiraled down from the most intense orgasm of her life.

She felt the wetness on her cheeks before she realized she was crying, before she could process the connection between what they’d just shared and her feelings for him. They dovetailed in perfect concert as he wrapped her in his arms and held on tight, still intimately lodged within her body.

Her tears slid down her cheeks, plopping onto his strong, corded arms.

“Sweetheart,” he panted. “Are you okay?”

“I love this.” She sucked in a gaspy breath. “I love being with you.”

“I love being with
you
,” he sighed, his voice drowsy—thick with content.

“I don’t want this to end,” she murmured, feeling overwhelmed, frightened, joyful, and uncertain all at once.

“End?” he repeated, his voice still lazy from behind her. “We’re just beginning.”

“But what’s our plan?” she asked, sniffling lightly.

“Our plan . . .” Holding her tightly, he drew back his hips, slipping from her body, then flipped her over, onto her back, so he could look into her eyes. “What do you want it to be?”

“I want—”

Chris’s phone buzzed loudly, and he took a deep breath. “Hold that thought.”

Reaching over her, he grabbed the phone from its charger on the bedside table and pressed it to his ear. “Lori?”

As he hovered over her, Julianne watched his face—the way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slowly fell into a frown.

“About
us
?” He paused, his voice steely and pissed when he asked, “What
about
her?”

Rolling away from Julianne, he reached for something on the opposite bedside table and sat up, pointing the remote control at a flat-screen TV on the wall across from them.

Julianne sat up, too, pulling the covers up to her breasts and searching Christopher’s face. Completely focused on the TV, he wasn’t giving much away. He took a deep breath and sighed, changing the channels quickly. Finally, he settled on a channel, and Julianne’s eyes moved slowly from his face to the TV as she heard the words “Trouble in paradise? With Jules heading to the Big Apple for an exclusive modeling contract with Skid City Cosmetics and Christopher hoping to start his congressional career down in DC, inquiring minds want to know, How will love survive?”

***

“Lori, I’ll call you back,” said Christopher, his eyes widening as he stared at the TV with something much bigger and badder than panic taking up residence in his chest. He recognized it from the day he lost his father: it was alarm bordering on fear and tightened like a vise around his chest.

He turned to her, looking at her face. Her lips were parted, and she was holding her breath—he could tell by the way her breasts sat still and high under the covers. When she looked at him, his heart sank because he didn’t see indignation in her expression. He saw an apology.

“When are you leaving for New York?” he asked in a dead voice, ignoring the chatter of the
E! News
correspondent who was still talking about them.

“Chris, I should have mentioned—”

“God, I should have known,” he said, feeling disgusted with himself for believing she actually loved him, and sick to his stomach at the thought of losing her.

“Known what?” Her brows furrowed in what appeared to be genuine confusion, but he knew better.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. His chest ached, but he refused to touch it, to rest his palm on it, to give her any indication of how much he was hurting. “That you had your own agenda.”

“No. You don’t—”

“I don’t what? I don’t learn the first time?” He scooted away from her, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his elbows on them. “Christ, I’m an idiot.”

“Stop.” She raised her chin. “Let me talk.”

“Forget it. I don’t want to hear—”

“Let me
fucking
talk!” she bellowed, her black eyes spitting blue fire. “I made
one
mistake with you!
One!
And it was a big one, but I have done nothing since—
nothing
—but try to make it up to you. Do you know how insulting you were when I walked into your campaign headquarters that first day? You were horrible to me, but I didn’t walk away. Do you know how it felt to have to speak in front of a sea of reporters that day? Terrifying, but I didn’t walk away. And when you would whisper cruel things in my ear? I took it. I didn’t walk away. How about when you practically lunged at that schoolteacher? I knew you were jealous, but you couldn’t even admit you liked me, and I still didn’t walk. Or when you blatantly told me that if I was developing a crush on you, it was pointless? I bore the humiliation of your words, and I didn’t walk away. Or when you told me in Washington that there was no future for us? That hurt me, but I
still
didn’t walk away. I have righted my wrong. I have made amends. I have done
everything
in my power to fix what I did and to prove to you that I made a mistake. A mistake, Chris. Damn it, I made
a mistake
! But I can’t pay for it forever. So if that’s what you need? A lifetime of penance? Let. Me. Go.”

She sobbed the last three words before lowering her chin to her chest and weeping, her shoulders shaking as she drew her knees to breasts and circled them with her arms.

“Jules,” he whispered, watching her curl into a ball, as though making herself as small as possible would protect her from any more pain. Pain. At his hands.

Since the moment she walked into his campaign headquarters, her every move had been for his benefit. Every word. Every gesture. Every time she showed up at an event, accompanying him to Washington, teaching herself how to speak in public. And it hit Christopher like a ton of bricks: it wasn’t just that he wanted to trust her—she had
earned
his trust. And if he withheld it from her any longer, then
he
was sabotaging the best thing that had ever walked into his life.

He had a decision to make, and, looking at her body trembling beside him, he knew he didn’t have much time to make it. Either he chose, here and now, to trust her, or—she was right—he needed to let her go because she had made amends, and the thought of hurting her anymore made him physically sick.

He took a deep breath, reaching out to touch her arm. She raised her head a little and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“Okay.”

“Okay? After all that?
Okay?
That’s all you have to say?”

It’s now or never. Letting her go is not an option.

“Okay, I trust you. From now on. Forever.”

She stared at him, her gorgeous lips parted as her face mirrored shock, then joy, then crumpled completely, falling forward in another fit of silent sobs.

Chris pulled her into his arms, cradling her supple, naked body on his lap and rubbing her back soothingly as she turned toward him for comfort.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I jumped to conclusions. I’m sorry I didn’t ask to hear your side of the story first.”

She sobbed softly near his ear, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, her tears slipping down his bicep. Her arms and hands were sandwiched between them, still and silent, neither touching nor avoiding him. She was limp and exhausted, but he held her fast, waiting until her tears subsided.

“I’m n-not . . . a b-bad . . . p-person,” she hiccuped. “I p-promise I’m n-not.”

“I know you’re not,” he said, stroking her back gently. “You’re wonderful, Jules.”

“I hate what I d-did to you, but I c-can’t change it.”

“I know.”

“And I will spend forever p-proving I’m worthy of your trust, Chris.”

“You already have,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her neck and holding her tighter. “The truth is . . . I . . .” He swallowed the lump in his throat, willing the words to come, owing her the same honesty he demanded. “I need you, Jules. I feel like we’ve finally found each other. The thought of losing you is . . .
awful
. It made me panic.”

She snuggled closer to him. “You’re not losing me.”

“What I feel for you, Jules, it’s so much bigger than anything I’ve ever felt before.”

“For me too.” Her sobs had quieted now, and she sighed against his shoulder. “I never
signed the contract with Skid City. They offered me the job of exclusive spokesperson and model. I’d be the face of Skid City next year. I said I would consider it, but nothing was ever finalized.”

His body, which had relaxed, tensed again. “Did they offer you a lot of money?”

She nodded, her hair brushing against his throat. “Yeah.”

“Travel?”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s a career changer, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

He clenched his jaw for an agonizing moment before asking, “So what are you going to do?”