Page 3 of The Senator

“Yeah, baby, make it sting.” Blaire’s moan was hot. He liked a little slap and tickle while he was getting fucked, and I was only too happy to give it to him. One swift blow turning his right cheek bright pink revved my motor, so I did the same to the left.

I changed the angle to hit his prostate, dragging the head of my rod against it such that Blaire yelled, “I’m about to come! Do it again!” Gladly.

Blaire’s hard cock had worked its way through the ropes of the hammock, so I tightened the netting like a cock ring to restrict him from blowing. “Not yet, baby. I’m not there yet.” I was mesmerized by the visual of my dick sawing in and out of his velvet vice.

“Come on, Spencer, let me come,” Blaire whined as my balls drew up, signaling I was there with him. I released the netting and jacked his cock twice, getting a tantalizing visual of him shooting his load onto the sand. I pounded into him a few more times before blowing my load in the condom buried deep inside Blaire’s heavenly ass.

After catching my breath, somehow managing not to collapse, I grabbed onto the rubber and pulled out, holding it on my dick with one hand while helping Blaire up with the other. He turned to me and kissed me passionately, the action causing me to let go of the condom to pull him into my arms. The damn thing slid off my dick and splatted onto our feet, causing both of us to jump. “Gross!” Blaire yelled before we both laughed.

We pulled up our swim shorts and went into the ocean to rinse off before we ventured back to the hammock, collecting the used condom and walking arm in arm into the villa to start our five days in paradise—or so I thought.

It all came to a crashing halt two days later when Vani forwarded to me the link to an article on a gossip website showing my old white ass—blurred for the kiddies—and enough of a view of Blaire’s right flank to give away the fact the recipient of my dicking wasn’t Vanessa.

CHAPTER 2

SPENCER

Present Day

“Send me a text if Andy Bennett calls, will you? I’d like to explain myself to him since he supported me early in the campaign season by attending a few events. I’m sure he’s pissed at me, but he’s a good friend, and I owe him the truth,” I requested as Mario turned down Edgewood Terrace. Thankfully, the traffic was light so we wouldn’t be spotted.

“Have you talked to Andy since the pictures hit the papers?”

Sadly, no. I hadn’t spoken to Andy since the scandal broke. He’d clerked for my father and had acted as a mentor to me when I was beginning my legal career. I could only imagine what he must have thought of my complete career implosion.

I needed to try to explain the situation to Andy without tromping on Vanessa’s privacy. It was a fucking no-win proposition, really.

Mario stopped at the corner of the Edgewood Terrace and Woodmont Road in Alexandria to let me out near Blaire’s townhouse. It was midnight, but I doubted the man was asleep because the hood of his car, which was parked on the street in front of his home, was warm. The house was dark, which wasn’t a good sign that I’d be welcomed inside.

The sliding door in the kitchen was unlocked, so I quietly stepped inside and closed it, locking it behind me. “In the living room.” His voice was quiet.

I walked into Blaire’s living room, squinting in the darkness to find him. The floor lamp suddenly illuminated in the corner of the room, but the bulb only offered a dim glow, so I couldn’t make out Blaire’s expression.

The nerves coursing through my body had to be palpable in the room. “Are you okay?”

Two beats of silence before he spoke. “No, as a matter of fact, I don’t think I am. Imagine this—I got fired today, which wasn’t expected. I was identified in a photo of the two of us in the infinity pool in Jumby Bay. Someone had a telephoto lens and took pictures of us all week.

“They were sent to my boss during last night’s broadcast, and when you lost the election, it didn’t go unnoticed I’d fumbled the announcement. I got called into his office first thing this morning.”

“I’m sor—” Oh, he wasn’t done.

“You’ve compromised your objectivity as a journalist, and when the country finds out you’ve been fucking a well-respected, married, Senator, you’ll lose all credibility with the public. NBS has no desire to allow you to ride out the storm at a desk and then attempt to salvage your career when the country has moved on to the next scandal.”

I tried again. “Look, Blaire, I’m real?—”

“My epitaph will read, ‘Here lies a man with many possibilities but one weakness—a big dick.’ I assume Vanessa has filed for divorce since she saw the story and sent the link to you?”

I’d never explained to Blaire the intricacies of my marriage because I couldn’t fully trust him with the details. He was a journalist, ruled by his ambition, so while I was pretty certain he wouldn’t out himself and me in the process, I didn’t want Vanessa compromised in any way.

“Uh, not yet, but I told her that she should, and I’d give her everything. She’s really a wonderful woman, and she’s loyal to a fault, which is more than I can say for ninety-nine percent of the people in the DC area.” I put my hands on my hips, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Blaire drained the crystal glass in his hand before walking back to the kitchen. The lights over the kitchen peninsula were flipped on, and the tinkling of ice into glasses echoed through the room. I followed him. I could damn well use a drink if he was pouring.

I took off my baseball cap and tossed it on the floor next to a stool where I plopped my ass. Seeing Blaire in the harsh light of the kitchen showed how much the whole mess was affecting him—his hair, which was usually smoothed neatly, was standing on end, and the worry lines around his eyes made him look considerably older than his thirty-five years. It was yet another smack in the face to remind me regarding how my poor decisions had damaged others in my orbit.

I hadn’t seen Blaire, except on the news, since the scandal broke, not for my lack of trying. He’d refused to take my calls, even though I used a burner cell to contact him, not willing to tie us together by using my official cell. I knew the speculation around town regarding the identity of my sex partner had been bandied about in living rooms, bars, and offices all over the city, which brought another question.

“Why now? Why was your identity just now disclosed and only to your boss? This happened back in August, so if someone knew it was you, why did they wait to tell anyone?” I was thinking out loud, which was a bad habit I’d developed back in law school.

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