Vetting The Senator Read online

  Table of Contents

  Vetting The Senator (Dirty Little Secrets, #2)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  VETTING THE SENATOR is a work of fiction. Names including the reference to historical figures, characters, places, organizations, business and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Published in the United States of America

  By S.S.PUBLISHING, LLC

  Copyright © 2015 by Alex Elliott

  Photographs:

  ©Scyther5/Depositphotos.com

  ©kiuikson/Shutterstock.com

  VETTING THE SENATOR by Alex Elliott

  All rights reserved.

  DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS

  Seduced By The Senator Book 1

  Vetting The Senator Book 2

  D.C. DIRTY DARK SECRETS

  Master On The Hill ~ Monday

  Coming Soon

  Affianced To The Veep Book 3

  The House On The Hill Book 4

  “Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways.”

  —Sigmund Freud

  I’d like to fuck you...but then I’ll have to kill you.

  Chapter 1

  REPEAT AFTER ME

  INSIDE, I’M dying to touch Bennett. A simple act. I lean a little closer, telegraphing to him...what? He’s beautifully brutal. A week with him set me on fire. After getting lost with him—seriously lost in a break from his campaign trail since Thursday, we landed in D.C. minutes ago, and this isn’t going to start out as another episode of when in Rome. If wishes were free for the taking, sure I’d want us to continue on this path that involves peeling apart the truth—especially if it’s our special flavor of dark, twisted, painful.

  Sig-the-man Freud may have gotten it right. With no father, I’ve housed a void. But not with Ben. Screaming yes, yet I’m not empty. All would be picture perfect if he wasn’t my boss. Soooo, I’m not just near the brink. I’ve tasted the apple...opened my eyes, and want another carnal hit. Primal sex bordering on violent and the only type to sate my hunger. I’m well over the edge of sane thinking. My entire kink experience with Bennett could be written as the textbook example of how not to begin a career on the Hill.

  In reality and for his sake, what we should be doing is simple math.

  A one-nighter that turned into seven days of uninterrupted hardcore—you get the point. Right?

  And it should’ve ended in Bean Town. A see you around kinda deal, if we had an ounce of sanity between us. Not us landing at Reagan airport and trading nuclear-powered glances. Not me wearing a set of nipple clamps that he went out and purchased in Boston, then slipped on my tits this morning in our hotel room. And certainly not me handing over my address. The one I’ve got on a sticky-note, crumpled inside my sweaty palm.

  The luggage conveyer belt starts up again and as we stand side-by-side, his arm brushes mine. In response, I ‘accidentally’ press my shoulder against his until his suitcase comes into view. Leaning over, he grabs the handle, and swings the case off the belt.

  I watch as a man with red hair and wearing a campaign button walks up to us, grinning broadly. “So how was it? Can’t recall you dropping out of sight in forever.”

  Bennett looks up and smiles. “Oliver, nice timing.”

  “Nora said be here, and when she snaps her fingers, you know how it goes. Don’t hold back. News?” the young man asks.

  “This trip turned out to be the best one yet. Productive. Informative. And I’m ready to get to work,” Ben replies and laughs, flashing his smoky eyes to mine. His glance delivers a jolting kick to my senses, and verifies—yet one more time—that the connection we share is unrelenting.

  Raw.

  Binding.

  His expression morphs into total ice. Shuttered, slicing, and sets the stage when he looks back at the young man. A clap to my senses. It’s like another version of Stone is next to me. Unapproachable. I get it. He’s a senator and I’m his intern. This is how the game is played beyond our bed.

  “Ms. Kennedy,” he says, motioning over to me. “Meet Oliver Price. The man who’ll help you get set up.”

  I step forward. “Hello, Oliver.”

  “Pleasure and welcome to D.C. New Hill intern?” Price’s voice comes out in rolling Georgia vowels and his face is split by another wide grin.

  “Yes. From Boston College,” Bennett says stiffly, picking up his computer case, nodding to Oliver. “This guy is my number one congressional aide, and when I need a campaign manager, he’s it. We go way back.”

  “Impressive set of titles.” I look between them.

  Bennett casts his glance my way, and for a second I falter, staring into green pools. The same ones that held me captive, a willing prisoner under him as he fucked me for hours on end during our week together, and then one last time this morning. He slammed into me so hard and deep, I swear I can still feel the phantom thrust of him moving in and out of me—as if he’s breached the walls of my psyche—that’s how brutal we do it.

  “All the way from Athens...just outside Atlanta,” Oliver snorts, jarring my focus. “Miss Kennedy, ever been down South?”

  “Bulldog territory—sure have. Lived there for a while. I’m a fan of Atlanta. And please, call me Xavia.”

  “Xavia,” he repeats my name and extends his arm. “Nora told me all about you. No worries.”

  “Great.” I take his hand, and we shake while I say something like it’s nice to meet him, but I’m in a fog.

  He lets go of my hand and proceeds to collect his boss’s luggage. Both bags.

  I step back, aware that once again I’m blocking the aisle. Bennett’s lips quirk. Another version of how we first met with me gawking and wavering on what to do. We discussed this. I know the plan and yet I’ve got this goddamn note in my hand. Why’d I wait so long to give it to him?

  Shit, I can’t just stand here and gape up at Ben. “I’ll see you.” I quickly amend, “Both. Tomorrow.” I force a smile to overtake my lips, like this is just one more introduction I’ll make in life—no problem. No one except me has a clue that my heartbeat hammers inside my chest, ready to burst from everything I want to say—need to hear.

  “Fridays are casual,” Oliver replies. “I don’t know how much Nora relayed.”

  “Lots, and I’m looking forward to casual. Okay. Bright and early. I’d better get going,” I splutter, taking hold of the handles of my suitcases. I’ve got my carry-on strapped on my shoulder and swing around, absorbing a thud as I hit something. Looking back over my shoulder, I meet Bennett’s quizzical expression. Crap, I just hit him in the arm or chest.

  “Where’s your roommate?” All it takes is his cocked eyebrow and I’m blushing. My face must be seventeen shades of scorched.

  “She got caught up at school and I’ll catch a cab.” I stow my reaction, working to keep tacked in place my perfectly
plastered expression of polite engagement. Bennett’s my boss. The man I’ll learn from. A capable teacher. Wash. Rinse. Repeat!

  “We’ll give you a lift,” he redirects me with his usual commandeering aplomb and I swallow, fighting the desire to do something that implies this is anything but a routine gesture on his part.

  “Thanks. It’s over in...” I release a suitcase handle, then open my hand, revealing the sticky-note. I’m so nervous I can’t remember the address. I look at the note and choke out, “Logan Circle.”

  “That’s a terrific location,” Oliver says, reaching forward. “Here, let me help with your bags. I remember my first day in D.C. Seems like years ago.”

  “I’ve got ‘em.” I recapture my wayward suitcase handle, gripping both tightly as if they conceal the secrets I’m carrying.

  “Oliver, get her bags and I’ll deal with mine,” Ben orders his aide.

  “But—” I stop speaking when he trains his atomic gaze on me.

  “Yes?” His pupils dilate. His lips slightly curl.

  Back in Boston, any contradiction on my part would come with a warning from him, followed by a series of expertly delivered smacks to my ass. Pinpricks of perspiration break at my hairline. I’m not about to drop his gaze. Oliver is standing next to him and probably watching our exchange. Anything and everything must be seamless between us, and I scramble to check my expression.

  Eyes neutral.

  Mouth not hanging open.

  Am I tilting my face up too much?

  Christ, my cheeks burn as I feign feeling serene—even thinking proves dangerous. My muscles are in knots, and I’ve only been in Washington for less than an hour. Holy hell—if this is one-tenth of what it’ll be like in Ben’s office, I’m in for the ride of my life!

  Shifting my gaze to the carts near the wall, I remind myself to breathe. “We should get a luggage dolly.” I frost my voice with fake calmness and glance back to Bennett’s face. “There are more than a few available.”

  “We’ll manage,” he says, reaching for my carry-on strap from my shoulder and I stiffen as his fingers sweep forward.

  Before he can touch me, I lift the strap and deposit it into his outstretched hand. The curl to his lips stretches higher—for a millisecond—and then the twist to his lips is gone.

  We switch positions, figuring out who will take what, and it’s worse than square dancing in a closet in how close he and I are standing and can’t touch. Barely look at one another.

  “Were do you live exactly?” Bennett’s voice comes out a low caress—or it’s my imagination.

  “R Street, NW. But I could start working today,” I reply nonchalantly, showing him the note. He takes the piece of paper from my hand, swiping his fingers across my skin and I gasp as a tingling zap shoots up my arm.

  “Wow. You are a fireball. First day in the city and you’re ready to hit the ground running.” Oliver laughs and shakes his head, wheeling around with two suitcases and a carry-on. “We’re parked at the curb.”

  If only Oliver realized how spot-on he is in describing what I feel.

  Bennett looks down at me—this time with his back to his aide, and he endows me with a steely stare. “Tomorrow will be soon enough. Get settled. Casual or not, we work like it’s Monday morning every day.”

  “Don’t let him scare you,” Oliver retorts as we all proceed toward the exit. “We do happy hour and you’re invited.”

  A black SUV waits at the curb. A pair of police officers snap their focus toward us, and one of them blows her whistle, waving to a car to move. The other smiles and saunters over. “Senator Stone. Let’s get you out of here.”

  “Thank you. It’s crowded today.”

  She nods, looking over the rim of her sunglasses at him, and curving her lips into a seductive grin. “Summer travelers getting back before school starts up next week.”

  “Well, that explains it.” He gives Oliver the cases he’s holding. I’ve never seen so many people meet one man with so much pleasure. Ear-splitting smiles, laughter, and it’s a wonder Bennett’s head isn’t the size of Fenway Park.

  The policewoman gives him a once over a blind person could perceive. “Have a good day, sir.”

  Sir? The title tears through my consciousness. Bennett doesn’t react but I do. Sir. More than an honorific. It’s what I call him when I’m naked and learning the art of submission. A rather long row to hoe, I’m finding out.

  “Ms. Kennedy, this way.” He opens the back door and pats the seat. “After you.”

  I brush past him and he steps closer. His body is shielding me as I’m sandwiched between him and the door. We’re curbside, in cramped quarters he’s constructed, and my senses alight, fully enflamed. He could touch me but he doesn’t. His hands are on full display. One on the door and the other on the doorframe.

  Effectively, he’s caging me, using his formidable body with only the backseat as my reprieve. I’m hungry to lean into him, feel his lips on my mouth—my skin—between my legs. I don’t dare look up or I’ll break strategy, risk doing what I asserted I wouldn’t—to touch him in public and feed my need for him.

  I sway yet remarkably manage to keep my hands down. I bite my lip, lifting my hip onto the backseat, and swing my legs inside; all too aware that he’s watching my every move.

  “Slide over,” he murmurs.

  I’m scooting along the seat and he’s next to me. In that instant, he slams the door simultaneously as Oliver closes the tailgate. He takes possession of my leg, curling his fingers over my thigh, pulling me next to him. He pushes his hand under my skirt, sliding his fingers upward as I instinctively close my legs.

  “Be-nnett,” I stammer.

  “Open your legs. Now!”

  “But...”

  “If you don’t want the whole airport to know what I’m doing, obey me.”

  Oliver walks by the door to my left without glancing inside and I flinch. “Please,” I moan.

  Without comment, Bennett moves his hand higher between my legs and I gasp but do as he says, splaying my legs for him.

  Stroking his thumb between my thighs, I shiver as he stares down at me. “I swear, I could fuck you. Right now. So hard,” he says the words on a hiss between his teeth. “Problem is if I start, I doubt I’d stop for hours.”

  The windows are tinted black. The security screen is up between the front and back. Ben’s aide pauses, trading gibes with the policewomen. In seconds, he’ll jump into the front seat. Stone and I have done this dance, seated in a backseat while a driver shuttles us around—but never have we broken the rules of engagement.

  We can do this. Silently, I repeat my mantra as Bennett’s fingers climb higher and higher. But first, I have to have my say.

  “Except...” I finish what he’s obviously left unsaid. “We’re in your town and we’ve got to remember the rules. Which isn’t what we’re doing right now.”

  “X... I want you like no other. Give yourself to me, however I demand. Lower your shirt. I want to see your tits.” He rubs the skin along my inner thigh, forcibly touching me, squeezing the space between my legs, and manages to slip his finger under the lace of my panties. He grazes my folds—I’m slippery and swollen.

  Craving this sex grenade he supplies, I rub myself against his finger, and the tiny bundle of nerves in my clit detonates into shimmering pleasure.

  “Shirt,” he growls and I remember to do as he says, lowering the neck of my shirt and fully exposing my lacy bra. “You’re wearing the clamps. God, I could fuck your tits, your ass, and your pussy if we were at the House right now. Free your tits so I can suck on your nipples.”

  “This is crazy,” I whisper, locking my gaze with his as he pinches my clit and has me grinding down on his hand. “I can’t.”

  “You. Will.” He shifts his gaze over his shoulder as he thrusts his finger into my entrance, and I tremble.

  “Ohhh.” I swallow my groan, caught in a wave of lust while frightened that at any moment, Oliver will open the driver’
s door. I grab Ben’s hand, trying to get him to stop, but he refuses.

  He looks back at me, leaning closer, staring harder. “I’m well aware of what you like. Don’t piss me off. Now ride my fucking finger.”

  Roughly, he plunges his finger inside me as my muscles clench...I spread my legs wider, wanting him to thrust deeper. I rock my hips, hyperaware of his finger as he finds and strokes just the right spot to make me roll my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from calling out his name. A haze of erogenous bliss washes over me. I’m on the brink, ready to shatter—but he stops. He withdraws his finger, giving me a sobering frown.

  “Well?” he asks. “I was crystal fucking clear about baring your tits. And for the record, you’ve disobeyed me.”

  I believe this is it. He’s called me on my lack of faith—but no, it isn’t. I need him. I have to have him. I push down the cups on my bra, shielding my breasts within the cage of my fingers. The chain joining the nipple clamps he gave me hangs between my boobs.

  “Quid pro quo?” I flash my focus over at Oliver who seems to be flirting with the cops, then quickly lean toward Ben. I open my legs wider like a sex-crazed addict. “You want something. Well, Senator, so do I.”

  He chuckles darkly. “Pretty ballsy, little girl. Lower your hands and I’ll give you what you want.”

  “Deal.” Sliding my palms down to the seat, my breasts are bared, and he grunts in satisfaction.

  He inserts not one of his expert fingers, but two into my pussy. He pumps his arm harder, faster, biting his lip, and staring into my face. “Come for me, X. Come all over my goddamn fingers, baby.”

  With my legs spread wide, I’m flexing my hips, and unraveling. He pounds the heel of his large palm against my sex, making me take his two fingers. All the way. Brutal—the force of his arm pumping between my legs is merciless, and I’m there. I latch onto his muscular bicep, burying my face as I silently scream his name.

  I’m so spent yet he’s relentless. Recapturing my tits, he sucks one of my erect nipples into his warm wet mouth. In the midst of mind-bending pleasure, he snaps the chain, delivering a slice of pain to my nipples, and I shatter.

  “Bennett,” I exhale his name as blinding euphoria explodes in my brain and my release glosses my pussy.