Scandalous: The Senator's Secret Bride (21 page)
Read Scandalous: The Senator's Secret Bride Online
Authors: Imani King
“First, Mama and Daddy just need a moment, sweetheart,” I said, brushing her gorgeous hair with my fingers. Jessamyn smiled and started twirling, running up and down the hall in delight, flashes of gold following her.
“You know, that day you left…” said John.
“Yeah I know that day.”
“I know. But there’s something I never told you,” John continued. “It sounds crazy, but I had a dream, just like it was real. It was Jessie in her gold dress, and she told me that you were her mama, and we were a family.”
“That sounds plenty crazy,” I said, watching Jessamyn twirl. Her bright green eyes looked in our direction, checking to see if we were still watching her. “But somehow, I do believe you. That kid is magic. Look at where she got us.” A secret service agent peeked around the wall, his face blank. He lowered his sunglasses.
“Mr. President, they’re ready for you now. If you and the First Family will come with me, we can escort you to the transport to the first inaugural ball.”
“Come on Jessie,” John shouted to the magical girl down the hall. “Let’s get going. We’ve got a big night ahead of us.”
“And a damn good life, it would seem,” I added. “Or at least one dedicated to making this country better for everyone.”
“Damn right,” said John, smiling as Jessie took his hand. We walked out of the respite of the hallway and into the crowds of cameras and flashing lights. The campaign trail had been difficult, and replete with people who wanted to take us down for our unusual beginnings as a couple. But there were just as many people who loved John for his policies and his boldness, and me for my unwavering support of a politician they believed in.
America loved a good scandal, but they loved a happy ending just as well. I guessed that they could love us too, for all of our flaws and imperfections, and maybe even because of them. After all, we had the greatest prize for our indiscretions — love, happiness, and a whole world that was ours for the taking.
An excerpt from my latest novel,
Reckless Love
:
CHAPTER ONE
Leopold
The breath hissed through Leopold’s closed teeth.
“Ooh, yeah… baby, that’s good. Do that. Right there.” Leo squirmed as he slowly pulled a hand through his shock of black hair, watching the girl’s head bobbing up and down.
This one is good. Perhaps I’ll keep her around an extra night or two,
he thought, as she circled the head with her tongue, and then silkily drew it down the knotty skin on the underside. He trembled with pleasure, letting his legs fall open a bit more. “Use your hands, babe. Yeah, like that. Mmm.”
His head fell back into the cushions of the soft leather couch. The drugs were starting to take effect and make everything seem melted and mixed together. Looking up at the ornate ceiling, he saw so many lights, so many colors. It was as if the colors were part of the blowjob, in a way. He was fucking the colors, right in the mouth. He giggled to himself, and the girl, whatever her name was, paused and looked up, big cornflower-blue eyes wide with concern.
“Did I tell you to stop?” he said, a crooked grin slowly spreading across his face, before fading into the flawless lines of his soft lips. “Get back to it, girl.” The blonde eagerly and somehow dutifully wrapped her lips around him again, swirling her tongue like a dirty little windmill, making him shudder. The tingling ran all the way down to his feet, curling his toes.
This uhh… whatever her name is, she’s a good girl.
He knew he was going to come. Briefly he wondered if he should warn her.
Less mess if I go off right inside her but more fun if I do it on her face
. But before he could decide, the colors lured his attention back, and he let go, somehow feeling the vibration of the kaleidoscope ceiling through his cock. His cock, the center of the free known universe. All else revolved around its glory.
And now it would birth thousands of tiny stars into… whatever-her-name-is.
He came.
***
Bright morning light assaulted his closed eyes, and Leo tried to cover them with a forearm, accidentally hooking something with his elbow. There was a crash, and a glugging sound.
One of the bottles spilling. Fuck.
He opened one eye, the excess light feeling like pin-pricks against his brain. Gazing across the monstrously large bed, he took in the utter disarray of what was usually a gorgeously appointed room. He rang for the help, each peal of the bell another attack. Pulling up his pants, he stumbled to the shower, stopping to dry heave over the toilet before regaining his debatable composure.
Leo leaned against the bathroom counter and looked at himself, disgusted with his reflection. He checked the color under his eyelid--
pale
--and stuck out his tongue--
coated.
It was one way he gauged his hangovers. Today’s was not as bad as some – ‘twas nothing a little time and a decent breakfast wouldn’t fix. He turned on the shower and stepped into the large, steamy space, stretching his arms over his head and letting the water wash over him. Images of the girls from last night crying out for him filled his mind, and he felt himself hardening again. One arm propping him up, he expertly brought himself to a shuddering orgasm.
Then shampoo, shit, and shave and he was nearly ready to face the world.
Entering his chamber again, he happily noted that the servants had been in, order had silently been restored, and there was a silver service with hot breakfast waiting by the window. He poured a cup of tea.
Goddamn I’d like to be back in California - or why not, Italy - and get a decent fucking cup of coffee.
Why not indeed. If it weren’t for this stupid wedding.
Despite his family’s wishes, or one could say, in order to spite them, Leo had spent half the last decade in the hills of L.A., alternating with New York. For a British boy of highly obscure nobility, this was tantamount to blasphemy. But Leo scorned tradition, the propriety to which his family preposterously clung, at least as he saw it. In fact, he could see tradition as the snare it was, clinging to the old ways now that the world was changing.
Still he enjoyed the money.
That part was good
, he thought, looking around the newly cleaned room, spotting the breakfast tray. He could spit on the floor and someone would clean it up. Not that he would, he wasn’t that sort of barbarian. Not usually anyway.
But he had his own fortune, besides. He thought back to the last concert Saturday. It was utter madness. His band, Origin of Species, was touring through Scandinavia and the arena was filled with blondes, the finest of which was that chick he brought back to the seven-star hotel. Of course, her friend offered herself too - she wasn’t bad either. It was so easy when the tour manager did all the dirty work. He could simply pick and choose just the right girl, or girls, to top off the evening. Like the right single-malt, or the right sports car. Still blondes weren’t really his type, but in Scandinavia there wasn’t that much choice.
He pulled the silver lid off of the plate. Proper English breakfast.
Blimey
.
“What I wouldn’t do for a burrito,” he said to himself, voice ringing out in the large room. “Or some
huevos rancheros
.” He’d have to have someone say something to the cook – maybe they could spice up their dreary menu.
But there’s probably no point – I’m really not around here enough to bother. If it weren’t for this goddamned dreary wedding.
CHAPTER TWO
Alyssa
“Oh sure, Mrs. Peters, I’d be more than happy to help you out again,” said Alyssa, handing over the change from the meager market purchases her neighbor had wanted her to pick up. “I’ll be away for the big wedding performance, and a bit of a tour, but after that I’m around like usual if you need any more help.”
Mrs. Peters lifted up her glasses, revealing rheumy eyes. She scrutinized the returned coins, as she always did, before carefully handing Alyssa two quarters. A tip. Alyssa’s cheeks flamed, but she didn’t want to embarrass the old woman by refusing her money. She was doing her best just to be kind, not to profit a few pennies, and besides, Alyssa didn’t mind grabbing a few things for her when she went out.
After all, it was no trouble – Mrs. Peters lived just down the stairs from her, and she did have to contend with the sound of Alyssa practicing the cello every day. Considering Mrs. Peters almost never left the apartment, the near-constant playing must be a bit of an imposition, but Mrs. Peters never complained.
Thank heaven – I’ve really got to knuckle down for this wedding concert!
“You be careful over there,” Mrs. Peters muttered. The English are… chintzy.” She nodded knowingly at Alyssa.
Alyssa stifled a giggle, putting on a serious face.
Glass houses,
she thought.
Oh Mrs. Peters.
“I will, thank you!” She said aloud and the door closed between them.
As she ran her hand up the smooth wooden banister on the way up the stairs, Alyssa mentally went over the details again. Plane was tomorrow at 3. A car would come to get them, and she would stay on the grounds of the mansion with her girls. She could hardly believe that her quartet was invited to play in England, at a wedding for an Earl, no less! It was too exciting.
It would be her first time out of the country. And a big deal for the quartet, who had organized a mini-tour to play a few concerts and then have a couple days to enjoy themselves.
She quickly put away the few last groceries she had needed – just some things for dinner that night, and a bite in the morning – sparing an extra moment to take a big sniff of the small round of artisan bread she had treated herself to. She would have to eat it all tonight and tomorrow or freeze it – but she couldn’t help but splurge a little, thinking of the hefty paycheck the quartet would be getting for their concert.
Money was tight. Classical music didn’t always pay much.
Good thing it only makes my life have purpose,
she thought with a smile.
Money isn’t everything.
Once the few things were put in their places, their nests, she sat down on the smooth wooden practice chair, carefully placed her cello pin into her favorite hole in the hardwood, and drew her bow across the strings. The first note rang out, focused, rich and dark, soaring over the small room; it took Alyssa with it. Her muscles melted into the sound, her body attuned to every particle of bow that vibrated the thick, metal string. It boded well for the hours of practice that would follow.
Downstairs, Mrs. Peters similarly melted into her chair, smiling, oblivious to the glorious sound above her. Her ears were nearly deaf, but it was her mouth that was pleased; she was content to enjoy the chocolate bar the nice young woman had included, unasked for, in the small grocery delivery.
What a nice young girl. Wonder if she’ll ever get married
, the old woman thought.
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More by Imani King:
The Billionaire’s Prescription
First Act with the Billionaire
Alpha Billionaire’s Game Part One
About the Author:
Imani King is a small town girl with a big imagination. She nurtures a passion for yoga and can often be found in the studio when she's not writing.
In her fantasies, she and her billionaire Mr. Right travel the world, exploring different cultures and each other! These daydreams are the inspiration for her sizzling stories, so what are you waiting for? Give one of them a try and let her know what you think.
Find all of my books at
www.amazon.com/author/imaniking
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