Page 23 of Last First Time
Kar lifts her chin and shoots me a glare. “Get over it, Reed. I’m not letting those type of women run me out of here. Now you come back inside and mayor your cute butt off. Shake hands, kiss babies, whatever. We’re going to have our picture taken about a million more times. And then we’re going to dance together.” She pauses. “They do have dancing at these things, don’t they?”
I nod. “They do.”
“We are definitely going back in there for dancing. Really naughty adult type dancing.” She slides a fingertip along my jaw, and my pulse races at her touch.
“Whatever you say, Kar. You’re in charge.” I look at her, stroking the back of her neck. “I want this to be good for you.”
“It’s always good when we’re together, you idiot face. A bunch of hoity toity types aren’t going to change that for me.” She takes my hand and leads me back inside, and then proceeds to boss me around for the rest of the night.
She orders those pink frou-frou drinks for me all night, and then laughs right in my face every time I have to move one of the little paper umbrellas out of my way to drink. The next dirty old man who looks down the front of her dress gets a chiding finger snap, and a terse, “My eyes are up here, pervert.” It’s all I can do to keep from laughing outright at the way the man practically chokes on his own tongue before apologizing to us both.
We dance together too, a dirty belly dance number that sets the entire room ablaze with whispers and people holding up their phones to take videos. If she doesn’t care, I certainly don’t. I’m proud of who she is, and I want everyone to know it. Aunt Opal starts the applause when Kar finishes, and she even throws in a loud, appreciative whistle that makes Kar’s cheeks flush with delight.
It’s so damn good when we’re together. Karisma is the person who makes everything in my life better. Including political fundraisers and all the people who attend them.
“Did I tell you my poll numbers are up? All those pictures with you are doing me a world of good, Kar.”
Her eyes sparkle. “I could have told you that I was a good influence on you. I’ve been awesome for your taste in women and music, both.”
I’ve never laughed so much at one of these dry, awful functions. I could see us like this in the years to come, her scandalous dance moves the highlight of every event we’ll host at the governor’s mansion someday.
It turns out that Karisma Troudeau isn’t afraid of life at my side. She was made for it, and I’m going to prove it to her.
K.T.
The backseat of the town car is larger than I expected. Large enough for Reed to be down on the floorboards, my full skirts draped luxuriously around my thighs as his mouth and hands make themselves busy between my legs.
I rode the adrenaline high of telling off those high society women all night long. I dug right in and made a full on spectacle of myself, which is what I’d been afraid of initially when I’d reluctantly agreed to go. But once I’d made peace with the idea that they would never accept me into their moneyed little circle, it was so easy to be myself and quit worrying about being embarrassed.
I’m not ashamed of who I am, not really. But I have these lingering feelings that I should have done something more with my life, especially if I’m going to be dragged around by an actual millionaire with a stupid roman numeral nickname.
Reed told me he thought it was hot when I told off Buffy van der Snatch and Bitchy la Rue, and I thought he was kidding. But the intensity with which he’s laving my clit and rubbing at my G spot right now says otherwise. Maybe he really is turned on by me not taking any shit from those people.
It makes sense, in a way. His entire job is to take shit from people and somehow spin it into gold. He’s done it over and over again his entire life, figuring out how to turn people’s complaints into a force for good and progress instead of a cesspool of discontent. With Reed, people know they are being heard, and they see him answering their unspoken questions. He knows what people need even before they say the words out loud.
I moan, gripping his hair enthusiastically. Reed definitely knows what I need, which currently includes a second finger, and rougher touch. I feel the orgasm gathering, churning toward me in a wave of inevitability.
“Are you sure he can’t hear us?” I gasp, desperately riding his fingers and pulling on his mussy hair.
“I don’t care,” he growls and bites down just so, right at the crease of my thigh.
I swear in French, because dirty town car times seem to call for extra spicy French swearing. “Tell me, Reed,” I hiss.
He pulls his face away from my body and looks at me ferociously. “I. Don’t. Care.” His breathing comes fast, as if he’s run a race. “And frankly, if you still do, I need to work on my technique.”
No, his technique is definitely not a problem.
“I need—” My voice stops as Reed finds a magic place that apparently makes me forget to breathe.
“Yes, that’s it. I know what you need, Karisma. Now spread your gorgeous pussy open and give it all to me.”
A shiver racks my body at his dirty talk. Or perhaps it’s his touch. Or maybe even his wicked tongue, that is currently doing something to my clit that is probably illegal in at least ten different states.
“I’m going to ruin this dress.” His eyes meet mine and he gives me a look that has the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
“Maybe the seats too.”
My hips press against his mouth, bucking frantically. I need the relief that only he can give me, and I need it immediately.
