Politics - Sex Stories

Politics

... closer. Mirroring his gesture, she slid her hand into his. Each held each other for a moment at arms’ length, free hands cradling the other’s elbow. She hooked him closer. “Been a great race, Brad.” “The best woman won, though, Tamara.” “The best woman can use some help in the election, if you’re interested.” The blonde pulled back and squeezed his elbow, her pale blue eyes searching his own. “We’ll talk about it later.” Pressing his lips together to curb a snarl, he turned to the crowd. Grinned and gave a final wave before he retreated from the podium take her place at the side of the porch. Delicate fingers laced through his. He glanced to the side. The wind lifted a tendril of the red-brown mane of the woman beside him. Ginger. Brad took a deep breath. The blonde yapped on. Her words felt inspirational, masking the lack of definitive content. Several times he caught himself entranced by possibilities and hope, only to have no answers as to what that may be. The crowd cheered as Coben finally descended the podium. She made her way around the buzz of the party, shaking hands and nodding. Talking briefly, she caressed the cherubic faces of children and grasped the elderly’s shaking hands with both of hers. A merry go round of people flocked to Brad and Ginger. A blur of faces he didn’t want to talk to. Most of them couldn’t possibly understand why the office was so important. It was just a competition to them. Muscles at the top of Brad’s spine pinched. The more he went ...

... along with their charade, the more stiff his face felt. Like with each second, his skin was hardening into plastic. Ginger squeezed his hand. Pulled him away from the crowd and into the house. “You okay?” she asked. Light elongated through the high windows, nudging the soles of his wing tips. “Dandy.” “Brad.” He met her brown eyes. Her brows rose. “I’m fine, baby. There will be other elections.” She nodded, her gaze not letting up. Sighing, he pulled the back of her hand to his lips. Kissed her warm, soft skin. “She requested my help in the election.” “Help.” Voice monotone, her eyes searched his. “What does that mean?” “Oh, Bradley, there you are,” a feline voice sang. He watched his wife’s lips purse. She turned to the back door. Tamara Coben sashayed toward them, make up flawless and hair cinched back in a tight bun. Her pale blue dress brought out the color of her eyes. Its sleek pinch lined every curve with a sensual modesty only she could pull off. “Hello, Ginger.” His party’s front runner met his wife’s eyes before her gaze traversed down her body. “I do love your beautiful dress. Who made it?” Bradley loved how his wife’s back straightened. How she turned her body to face the other woman instead of cowering to the side or behind him. “My mother. Catalina Ferrera. You may know her work?” Tamara crossed her arms over her chest, letting a lazy forearm hang. She tapped her index finger toward his wife’s figure hugging black dress. “I believe I have. She made Kate Hudson’s ...