Page 142 of Bona Fide

“Who?”

“Jed Hardison.”

“What about him?”

“I didn’t peg you for someone who denied things you’ve done,” he seizes. “Another sex tape in a hot tub, Sox..remember who I am.”

“I didn’t videotape any—”

“But you’re still fucking him,” he leers, his monotonic octave dripping down my body. “You never stopped. You continued to do it over and over again and for what? Because you need me erased from your head? Because you’re so fucking heartbroken over me that you need a—” I hit him in the bicep with my fist, needing him to stop. To not say what he’s going to say because that means he’ll see right through me. That he’s privy to how I operate and that the only reason I participated was to break myself from his hold on me.

“Don’t pretend to know what I went through,” I fume. “You lied—about every fucking thing.”

His shoulder lifts in the dark. “I left shit out.”

“Important shit.” A tear suddenly hits my cheek, and I gasp at the surprise of it.

I always told myself that I would never cry in front of him again. That he’d never know how it felt to be utterly and helplessly enraptured in my feelings towards the infamous man they called stoic and mercilessly handsome.

It was like drowning and fighting to swim to the top just to be able to breathe again.

To feel normal again.

“Don’t get into your feelings about it, Shelton.” Wade readjusts his suspenders, always perfectly put together. Forever idyllic in the eyes of the American people because he never seemed bothered over worldly issues.

But personal issues…

I’ve seen Wade Lockwood squirm, exposing himself and feelings to me. He loved me, begged for me. Now he acts like I’m the one catching naive beliefs that we still have something?

Hello, he brought me here.

Sliding my fingers underneath the cords holding up his pants, I yank him into me, his chest immediately crashing into mine.

“Speaking of feelings,” I probe, sliding my hand slowly down the muscles of his stomach. “Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?” he drones.

“It’s not that small,” I taunt lightly, lifting my chin to him. “Your hard cock has been pressing into me since you’ve been here.”

“And?” When my hand clasps around it, he hisses, propping his palms on the wall for support.

“And...you might not have the hots for me anymore, Governor, but your dick and I seem to be getting reacquainted again.”

The soft waves of the ocean outside my room fill the space between and around us. I perk my ears for a groan, growl, or erratic breathing because I’m not the only one who kept our sentiments and past memories buried under cement just for them to haunt us still.

“What do you plan on doing?” Wade emits, throwing the ball back in my court.

My fingertips start at the button of his khakis, erasing more of the distance between us.

I don’t know what I want in this moment.

If I want to hear his hunger for me again.

If I crave to know he still cares.

Regardless, my rationality tells me it doesn’t matter. He’s still married, has a whole new responsibility carrying a country over a city, but at one moment in time, he was mine. I owned him—body, fucked-up mind, and shallow soul.

When my lips wrap around his thick erection, Wade’s knees buckle slightly. His exhales are heavy, eager, and starved.

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