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So that first night at Venom, when I saw her, there was no question that my monster would approach her to quell the hunger inside of me. And when she responded so eagerly, and so perfectly submissively to every cue, there was no turning back.
The first taste wasn’t enough. The second mouthful of her submission and feasting on her deviant fantasies that mirrored my own wasn’t either.
I wasn’t lying before when I said I’d never found an equal in my depravity and my darkness like my Kitten. It’s why I’ve been building the walls around us.
Drawing her close.
Binding her to me.
As I help her from the limo, with the cameras flashing around us, I realize there’s nothing “for the cameras” about this anymore. This isn’t about an image, or electoral votes.
It’s about finding the piece of yourself you didn’t even know was missing, and never wanting to let it out of your sight again.
Reporters scream questions at us—about everything from my policy ideas to who designed Fumi’s stunning green gown—as we walk along the red carpet and into the museum. Fumi’s hand tightens in mine. I turn to her, seeing the flicker of panic in her eyes that I’ve come to recognize, even when she tries to hide it.
She doesn’t love crowds, especially at events like this that involve the media. Honestly, I can’t say I blame her.
I squeeze her hand, breaking the tension in her face as she turns to me. She smiles weakly. But as she’s turning away again as if to “soldier on”, I stop us right there on the red carpet. I pull her around, pull her tight against me, and as the cameras flash, I cup her face and kiss her.
It wasn’t planned. I’m not even aware I’m doing it until my lips taste hers. I could tell myself it’s for the cameras, to make a splash by entering the gala with a headline-stealing kiss with my wife. I could even tell myself I’m playing hero, kissing her to center her to make sure she doesn’t lose it, break character, or snap in front of some reporter and fuck up this entire thing.
But as I kiss her, I realize it’s not about anyone else. It’s not about playing hero.
It’s just about her, and me.
Fumi’s flushed as I pull away. Our eyes lock, and she opens her mouth to say something. But just then, Meredith hustles over and ushers us into the Guggenheim.
The event is taking place mostly on the ground floor. But it also extends to curve up the Guggenheim’s famous spiral walkway that slowly winds up the perimeter of the building, open to the interior.
Fumi and I are quickly pulled apart—her to talk about her dress to someone from Vogue, and me to gladhand wealthy donors and take pictures with potential political allies and the celebrities that have shown up to support the campaign. Hell, I even get to shake hands with Jackson Havoc, the frontman for Velvet Guillotine, who’s donated a signed guitar and some original lyric sheets to the silent auction tonight.
Maeve’s brought Elsa’s younger sister Nora along to the event. The two of them beam ear to ear when I let them step in for selfies with Jackson as I move on to keep making rounds. I’ve just started to chat with Ed Lee—the alderman Fumi chewed Meredith out for not inviting to the last event—when my phone rings in my pocket.
“My sincerest apologies, Ed?—”
“Hey, welcome to politics, Gabriel,” Ed smirks. “It never stops, and it’s only going to get worse when you get elected.”
I smile at him before turning away. Eagerly, I answer the call from Jason—a young lawyer who worked briefly for Crown and Black before deciding to pursue public defense. He’s also currently clerking for Judge Myers downtown.
And Judge Myers is the friend who’s going to help me out with those sealed files on Governor Hall. You know, the ones that might bury him.
“How’s shaking hands and kissing babies going?”
I roll my eyes. “Tedious.”
He chuckles. “Listen, I know you’re busy at that fundraiser of yours, but I think you’ll want to hear this.”
My pulse quickens. “Please tell me Judge Myers signed off on the files.”
“Yes and no,” Jason grunts. “He did, but there’s a fair amount of redaction in them. Myers is pissed about it, because they’re not supposed to be redacted—just sealed. He’s already sent word to the attorney who filed the original paperwork that he’s got a week to get the un-redacted version to him, or he’s gonna get spanked.”
I grin. “Fantastic, Jason. Thanks, I?—”
“You haven’t heard the best part, bud.”
My brow cocks. “Oh?”
“Yeah, the important names are redacted. But man…” he whistles. “Governor Hall was a bad, bad boy when he was on that first gubernatorial campaign trail.”
