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Six
WOLFE
I tugged at the new yellow tie, tossing it on the floor.
Too calm.
I slid a green one from the rack, wrapping it over my neck before thinking better of it.
Too chirpy.
I plucked out a silky black velvet one and pressed it against my white shirt.
Perfect.
My sexual frustration was getting the best of me. I could barely walk straight without thinking of dipping my cock into the nearest open mouth in my vicinity.
It’d been days since the last time I sank my dick in a wet pussy, and the last encounter with the fairer sex was lackluster, to say the least.
Emily, of course, was a magnificent bore to fuck. Just a tad more responsive than a corpse and possessing around the same amount of charm.
Although, in her defense, I was more invested in fucking the rage out of my system than making it bearable for either of us.
She was pathetic enough to fake an orgasm, and I was screwed-up enough to pretend I didn’t notice.
It took me one second from the moment I laid eyes on Francesca and the blue-eyed Bandini at the wedding to realize that they were already halfway into their foreplay, whether they knew it or not.
Her eyes, even in the darkened niche, zinged with such intensity, the thought of dragging her across the ballroom and fucking her on the royal couple’s table as punishment crossed my mind.
But acting jealous and possessive was 1.) Not in my nature and, 2.) Unconstructive to my final goal.
Besides, since when was I into teenagers?
It was therefore counterproductive to let them have one last rodeo. If I tainted it, I couldn’t get attached to it.
So, I let Bandini stain it for me.
Thoroughly.
Now Nemesis surprised me by wanting exclusivity. I supposed she would figure out, after weeks of being fucked rough and ruthlessly, that the arrangement was not in her interest and send me on my way to the nearest available mistress.
Kristen, of course, was no longer an option, since she tried to run the piece about my engagement to Rossi. Consequently, Kristen got demoted from senior reporter to researcher.
I called her editor and informed him that the lovely blonde he’d hired fresh out of Yale a decade ago was getting in bed with the wrong type of people.
The people whose lives she was covering.
Mine.
It was Friday night, and time for the big charade. Secretary of Energy Bryan Hatch was coming over with his wife to discuss his support in my future campaign.
I had nearly six full years to serve as a senator, but the objective was clear: Presidency.
It was, admittedly, part of the reason Miss Rossi was now the proud owner of one of the most expensive engagement rings in the state.
Adjusting my image from someone who shoved his cock into enough mouths to silence the better half of the nation to the savior of a mob princess would earn me some much-needed points.
Her noble upbringing was a nice touch as a first lady, too. Not to mention, I’d mercilessly kill her father’s business in the process, despite my so-called affection toward my wife.
