AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Shit,” he grumbles under his breath, trying to adjust himself as discreetly as he can.
I squeeze his hand reassuringly, and the look in his eyes is full of frustration and dizzying want. I have no doubt that Darren would have lifted the skirt of my dress, pushed my panties aside, maybe even ripped them off, so he could fuck me against the wall next to Emerson’s portrait if we’d not been interrupted. My pulse still hasn’t returned to normal from our hurried escape through the maze of hallways. The threat of being caught was an aphrodisiac that I can’t quite seem to tamper down, even now while Audrina Ellsworth and her perfectly styled silver hair looks at Darren expectantly.
He loops his arm around my waist and pulls me to his side, giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek, but his lips linger for a few seconds longer than needed, feeling like a promise. The warmth of his jacket, the smell of his shampoo, and the tiny rapid pulse in his lips makes me reluctant to let him go.
“Save me,” he whispers in my ear, which makes me giggle, all of my nervous energy expelled into his shoulder, and I grab onto him for support. Audrina clears her throat to get our attention and Darren pulls away.
Audrina doesn’t seem to care about our inside joke. She stares right back at him, and he reluctantly lets go, my fingers slipping from his.
I stand at the outer perimeter of the room, having a good enough view while Audrina speaks into the microphone to get everyone’s attention. The sound of her voice causes the room to hush as if a cloak’s been thrown over the courtyard. When I look out at the guests, they’re all turned towards the podium, and I can see Darren nervously playing with his cufflinks. He looks quite dashing in his tuxedo, the bowtie still loose around his neck.
“I’d like to introduce you to tonight's sponsor, Darren Walker,” she says, and once she begins to clap, so does the rest of the room.
Darren clears his throat, and the clapping dies down to a slow patter of noise.
“As most of you know, the Abigail Pershing Foundation was created by my mother, Merrill Compton-Walker.” There’s a collective sigh at the mention of her name but Darren continues. “It is,” he falters, “was, a cause very dear to her, and she spent tireless hours raising money and awareness for domestic violence victims. As I look out at all of her friends and fellow patrons, I am proud of what she has accomplished, and I know that she is here with us tonight.” Darren’s voice cracks a tiny bit, and his public display of emotion is felt in the crowd. Rausch’s words come back to haunt me: And to think this is only scratching the surface of his potential.
He makes a great effort to not live up to that potential, but does a very poor job at it. The way he stands at the podium with charming, nervous energy, and a smile that would rival the greatest politicians, I understand why Rausch and his father were so at odds with him.
He could do great things.
My pride is short lived when I feel a hand on my waist. “When I heard the news, I thought it was a joke,” a familiar voice says close to my ear with a hint of amusement, “but here you are.”
My nervous energy from earlier has come back with a vengeance. Senator Langley’s blue eyes come into focus, and I realize now what Alistair meant about sharks wearing tuxedos – I just didn’t realize that he was among them. I remember the last time I saw him, his fingers in my cunt under the restaurant table, his frustration at being interrupted by Senator Walker and his wife’s tragic accident – how he was so willing to fuck me, even though his colleague and supposed friend had just died. It wasn’t misplaced grief, it was indifference – a nuisance preventing him from satisfying an itch that he thought he was owed—an itch he’d been wanting to scratch for nearly four years, since the first time we’d met.
He stands close to me, his arm brushing against mine as he looks out at the crowd. “You owe me something,” he says in a low voice, full of innuendo.
Everyone is turned towards the podium where Darren stands, and his voice fades into background noise, overtaken by the static clouding my mind. I don’t like feeling as if I’m not in control of a situation, but I try my best to stay calm, knowing that he wouldn’t make a scene here.
“I think the statute of limitations is up,” I retort and attempt to walk away, but his fingers dig painfully into my arm as he pulls me further away from the atrium and closer to an alcove hidden by potted trees and bushes.
“You’ll fuck that little shit, Darren Walker, but not me?”
There was a time when I could handle a man like Jonathan Langley, a man who thinks he’s entitled, but in this space, where I have never felt more out of place, I’ve lost my footing and my guard was down.
“I don’t belong to you,” I say while trying to shake him off, but his grip is iron clad.
I belong to Darren Walker, the man who paid five million dollars to fuck me on his father’s desk, chase me through the hallways of his house naked, and sit on his grand piano with my legs spread for him.
I don’t think Senator Langley cares about that. He only cares about what he’s owed.
Darren appears, slicing the air between us and punching Senator Langley so hard I hear bone crack. My stomach turns and I lift my hands to cover my mouth.
“Keep your fucking hands off my wife!” Darren grits out, his chest heaving with anger and exertion.
I look back at the courtyard to see all eyes are on us.
The lapels of Darren’s tux stretch across his chest as he breathes heavily. He takes my hand and I can feel it shake. I look down at Senator Langley, and oh God, what did Darren do? But I don’t have time to contemplate the weight of that answer because I’m being pulled toward the exit, my heart pounding against my chest. Once we’re out of the courtyard, the lighting and the beautiful glass and steel structure of the atrium gone, replaced by drywall and muted colors – he stops and touches my face.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, lowering his forehead to mine, and I can feel his long lashes flutter against my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think…” His hand is in my hair gripping tightly, pulling my low bun loose, and I can feel my hair fall around my shoulders, his fingers looping through the strands and gently tugging. The complicated hazel of his eyes searches mine. I don’t know if he means he wasn’t thinking when he brought me here, or he wasn’t thinking when he punched Senator Langley.
Either way, there will be consequences.
Darren is a shameless playboy who drinks too much and cares too little for authority. But then he gives me a private tour of the museum to see Emerson’s portrait, and then punches a US Senator for touching me.
“What was…”
I kiss him. I kiss him with all the anger and lust and shame bubbling up inside of me. It claws its way from somewhere deep in my belly and out through my fingers, which dig into his tuxedo jacket with frustration that it’s not the lean muscles of his back. The question he was about to ask is long discarded when he kisses me back. It sears into me, claims me, and possesses me while he drags me into the coat check, shucking his jacket carelessly until we hit the wall at the back.
