Page 12 of The Senator's Rival

“Please… fuck me..” Francesca somehow managed to mutter the words she needed.

“That’s better,” Margot smiled, smugly. “How sweet it is to hear you beg.” She sucked long and slow on her index finger as Francesca lay below her open and exposed. “And how sweet your pretty pussy tastes, Francesca.”

Margot’s right hand moved back between Francesca’s legs, fingers pushed hard and deep inside her, reached for her G spot and took back the rhythm of fucking her. Fucking her deep and slow. Fucking her harder and faster. Margot’s thumb sliding against her clitoris as she fucked her. Francesca heard her own moans getting louder as she felt her climax begin to build deep within her.

All the while, Francesca kept one hand twisted in the sheets, gripping them tightly and twisting them between her fingers as her entire body trembled in response to the stimulation. Margot was relentless, holding Francesca firmly in place until her moans became uncontrollably loud, wracking through her in ragged bursts.

“I want you to come for me, Francesca. Come for my fingers deep inside you.”

Francesca was nodding, mumbling, moaning as Margot fucked her harder and faster.

After several glorious moments of this exquisite torture, she finally hit the edge, her orgasm shattering through her in waves of ecstasy and pleasure.

Margot pulled back, looking immensely pleased with herself as Francesca writhed with abandon. Once she came down a little, still panting heavily, Margot crawled up over her, biting her lip in excitement. She hovered over her, their faces mere inches apart, and her mouth found Francesca's again. As they kissed hungrily, Francesca reached up, stroking the smooth planes of Margot's flawless porcelain skin. She traced her fingers lightly along her back, shoulders, and stomach, savoring the silky feeling beneath her fingertips. Her mind buzzed with white noise and foggy euphoria.

“My turn,” Margot breathed, eyes flashing with dangerous delight as she grinned wickedly against Francesca's lips.

Before she could respond, Margot sat up and scooted forward, lowering herself down onto Francesca's face with a sultry look. Francesca eagerly responded by eagerly returning the favor, running her tongue up the length of her. Her hands dug tightly into Margot's long, toned thighs to hold her in place, and she felt the muscles tense beneath her palms as Margot threw back her head with a moan. Francesca licked and sucked eagerly, enjoying the taste of her on her tongue and the way her body reacted to every movement of her mouth.

Margot rocked her hips with increasing intensity, riding Francesca's face with wild abandon as she gripped the headboard of the bed tightly. Her moans got louder as she ground down harder on Francesca’s face. Francesca could barely breathe, but she didn’t care. Eventually, Margot cried out in ecstatic release, hips jerking erratically as she trembled on top of Francesca, who clung to her firmly. Francesca eagerly took Margot’s orgasm in her mouth swallowing whatever she could and eagerly lapping up every drop from Margot's pussy before letting go, allowing Margot to collapse limply to the side with a sigh.

For a minute or two, neither spoke as they lay beside each other catching their breaths. The weight of what they'd done started to sink in, and Francesca felt her pulse quickening slightly. The high slowly faded, replaced by a vague sense of panic and confusion. What were they doing? This was insane. Margot was her rival, a mortal enemy on the campaign trail, the worst person she might possibly have chosen to have a one-night stand with.

She glanced to her right and saw Margot staring fixedly at the ceiling, something like panic flitting through those striking blue eyes. Her brow was furrowed with frustration, as if she was just realizing the same things Francesca was. The congresswoman pushed herself up off the bed, shaking her head in disbelief. For a moment, Francesca thought she was about to bolt, but instead she just turned and strode naked across the suite toward the bar at the opposite corner, pouring a glass of wine with a shaky hand.

Francesca sat up, too, covering herself self-consciously with the sheet, suddenly aware of how exposed she was. They eyed each other silently for a moment, their gazes locked in an intense stare. An awkward pause hung in the air between them. Francesca could practically hear Margot's brain whirring in time with her own. Okay. This was not good. What the hell had she been thinking, having sex with this woman? Yes, they were both attractive, and yes, the chemistry was off the charts. But this could absolutely destroy both their careers if word got out.

“This never happened,” Margot said curtly, breaking the silence with a razor-sharp tone that brokered no room for argument.

It wasn't that Francesca disagreed, but something about the absolutely ice-cold delivery rubbed her the wrong way. Margot Smith was many things—fascinating and intimidating and complicated and mysterious. She was also rude and arrogant and emotionally stunted. And married. To a man. Crying and screaming about traditional values and family morals and how identity politics and diversity were ruining the country with one hand, yet clearly perfectly happy to bury her face between Francesca’s legs behind closed doors.

“You are such a damn hypocrite,” Francesca spat out before she could stop herself, glowering indignantly as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “This was far from your first time, Miss Perfect Conservative Christian Wife. All that moral outrage about my sexuality, all the vitriol and hate you spew at me and people like me, and now you expect me to just play along with your lying hypocrisy?”

“It's called strategic compartmentalization, Francesca,” Margot replied coolly, looking shameless as she stood there naked, leaning against the bar and sipping her wine. “And yes, I do. This looks bad for you too. Unless you want to make that tabloid headline that'll torpedo your candidacy, let's make a mutual decision to forget this happened.”

Francesca bit back a sharp retort. As much as she wanted to put Margot in her place, she did have a point. Francesca's image was in a precarious position. The general public accepted her as an openly gay candidate, mostly, as long as it didn't get too in-your-face about it. If she was a successful leader, her sexuality was acceptable, if she didn't emphasize it too much. Getting caught in bed with her opponent, though--a careless, irresponsible flight of passion in the midst of a very serious, highly charged campaign? Neither of them would ever recover. The sordid scandal would be the only thing anyone remembered.

“Fine,” Francesca grudgingly conceded, frowning disapprovingly at the blonde, who shrugged uncaringly. “This never happened, and it's never going to happen again. I hope we both agree on that.”

“Absolutely,” Margot agreed. “This was a terrible mistake. Let's chalk it up to a lapse of judgment and move on.”

For some reason, that stung a little. Margot sounded so clinical about the whole thing, as if it were just another notch in an infinite line of meaningless hookups, never to be repeated, nor discussed, ever again. As misguided, unwise, and potentially ruinous this had been, it wasn't in Francesca's nature to just dismiss people like they meant nothing, especially not after a night like this. She had never been the type to engage in meaningless hook-ups and one-night stands. Sex was important to Francesca. So was intelligent conversation, emotional connection, trust, and respect. The way Margot spoke now, it was like Francesca was just some anonymous stranger she'd bumped into in a bar, never to see again. It didn't sit well with her.

She wanted to say more to keep the discussion going. Francesca wanted to challenge the woman about her apparent indifference. But the fact remained that Margot was right. This had been a mistake. A reckless, adrenaline-fueled, irresponsible, potentially disastrous error of judgment. As soon as it was over and the post-coital haze had lifted, it was unbelievable that Francesca had let herself get swept up in this madness for even a second.

“Agreed,” she sighed with a brisk nod. “You'd better get back to your loving husband, Margot. We'll never speak of this again.”

Her tone was tinged with bitterness and anger. If Margot was bothered by it, though, it certainly didn't show. She shrugged casually, threw back the rest of her wine, and then picked her clothes up off the floor and got dressed in silence. Without another word or so much as a backward glance in Francesca's direction, Margot Smith let herself out of the room, leaving behind an angry, confused Francesca glaring pointedly in her wake.

As soon as the door shut, Francesca collapsed back down on the bed and stared blankly up at the ceiling. What the hell had just happened? What had she been thinking? She buried her face in her hands and groaned softly. This could not have been a worse disaster.

But good God, it had felt incredible.

8

MARGOT

If there was one thing Margot knew how to do well, it was compartmentalize. No matter what was happening around her, no matter what complications arose or which external factors threatened to undermine her goals, she would shut those feelings away in a box and focus on what needed to be done. Therefore, from the moment Margot left Francesca's suite in the middle of the night, that chapter of her life was finished and sealed away. Whatever strange feelings had awoken to drive Margot into that hotel bed, the passion of their encounter, her conflicted desires and all the confusing emotions were shut away in a box. Their interaction wasn't allowed to exist anymore, so it didn't. The door was closed and it would stay closed.

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