Page 3 of Power Games

She must be an adult now. That made him feel incredibly old.

“I hope she’s well?” Izzy, ever the gossip, asked.

No one had heard much about Vanessa McNamara since the end of her father’s presidency, although Tristan popped up in the news here and there. More, recently. He’d just been elected senator.

“Very well,” said Theodore. “She should start law school next year.”

Charles noticed the ‘should’, rather than ‘will’, but he let it go. It wasn’t like he actually cared about the girl.

“Now, I think I heard them announce that punch is being served. After you.”

Tristan was gallant, polite and proper. Nothing ill could be said about his conduct at all. Meanwhile, Izzy was playing with her hair, biting her lip, trying to catch the senator’s gaze, all right in front of her husband.

Charles should have been bothered. He wasn’t. Let her attempt to seduce their host if she wanted to.

He couldn’t believe that he had to spend another ten months playing along. What an idiotic game. He should have pushed for a divorce.

“Do you mind if I stay in the drawing room? I have a certain fondness for art in general, and family portraits in particular.”

A lie on the second score. Tristan didn’t question it. “Shall I escort the lady?”

Charles just inclined his head. “Thanks. I’ll be along shortly.”

He took his time, needing a moment away from Izzy. The woman who used to be his everything. It felt like a lifetime ago.

What the hell had happened to them?

Charles had spent a few minutes looking at the portrait when a whiff of perfume caught his attention; he turned to find a beautiful woman in front of the door. Bottle-blonde, designer tits, legs for days, the works. Only she held herself differently, almost regally. Her dress was poured over her body, making her quite noticeable.

Yet not his type. Perhaps because he’d trained his body and mind to considerhis wifeas his type, fool that he was.

“Mr. Grant, I presume,” she purred seductively.

He plastered a smile on, wondering when a ring on a finger had ceased to matter to the rest of the world. She had one on hers, too.

“Izzy sent me to see if you were lonely up here by yourself.”

Ah. That explained it. His first instinct was to tell her to get lost. Instead, he said, “You know what? I’m very, very lonely, ma’am.”

The stranger turned on her four inch heels and sent him a look over her shoulder, beckoning him. He followed. He was going to fuck her and be done with it. Mourn his poor excuse for a marriage. Izzy wanted a year of this? Fine. At the end of it, he was done.

The blonde led him to a dark bedroom, and removed the straps of her dress, then opened a zipper. The black fabric fell to the floor before he’d closed the door. She was aggressive. He used to like that. He’d learn to like it again.

“Well don’t stand there, Mr. Grant.”

He considered asking her name, and thought better of it. What did it matter?

He took a step in the room and kicked the door closed. He considered turning the light on and dismissed the idea. It wasn’t like he was too fond of the view. The garden’s light would do.

“Get on your knees, sweetheart.”

She immediately obeyed. Charles opened his zipper and pulled his cock out—he had a semi now. A couple of pumps, and he was hard.

“Good. Open your mouth.”

He glanced at the woman, and felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. No lust, no desire. Damn, he sucked at this.

She sucked, too. Very well. Just the right amount of tongue, plenty of moans, she caught his gaze and held it as her mouth went up and down the length of his cock.

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