Five years ago, that cocky, egotistical a**hole played me like a fool and broke my heart.

Hudson Banks; the dominant, tattooed, womanizing, ex-Marine-turned-billionaire who runs God-knows-what at my late father’s company.

Oh, and he’s sexy as all f**k, and he damn well knows it.

He’s like a gasoline fire; a scorchingly hot disaster, and if I’m not careful, I’m going to get burned.

I’m on track to be the youngest New York State Senator ever elected; the bright, gutsy, good-girl media darling. Except my campaign funding just went dry, and it looks like the only solution is coming from the last person on Earth I’d ever want to take anything from. Oh, and it turns out bad-boy, tough-guy Hudson will be shadowing me 24/7 after he makes it clear that he’s in charge of “protecting the investment."”

Yeah, just perfect; a reckless, irresistible d*ck like Hudson Banks is the last person I need being “in charge” of anything to do with me.

Especially when I still can’t forget the taste of his lips or  the feeling of that massive hardness I know he’s packing between his legs. It’s not fair that he’s even hotter now than he was back then. It’s not fair that those smoldering, arrogant eyes and that cocky, panty-melting grin still make me warm in places they shouldn’t. And it’s definitely not fair that five years later, I still can’t get him out of my head.

So it looks like I’ve got two races on my hands: the one for election, and the one against the burning heat threatening to tear us both apart. But on the sprint to the finish line, what happens when the man who has everything comes up against the one thing he can’t have?

Author’s Copyright

Copyright © 2015 Aubrey Irons

Cover Photo: FXQuadro/DepositPhoto

Cover Design: Aubrey Irons

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.

This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please do not continue reading this book of you are under the age of 18 or are offended by content of this nature.

All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older and all acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.

Dedication:

To my husband, for indulging me in my wild ideas and giving me wings to fly.

To K, for being incredible.

To Lee, for demanding that I dream.

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Mailing List

Contact

About The Author

An Excerpt:

I grind into him, whimpering into his mouth as I feel his body hard against mine and feel his hands slide down to cup my ass. I’m shoving aside the voice inside my head that’s screaming at what a terrible idea all of this is, trying to smother it as Hudson smothers my mouth with his lips. I shouldn’t be kissing him like this, or moaning into his mouth as his hands grab my ass, or arching my back and rocking my pelvis against the thick hardness of his cock pressing at the front of his pants. No, I definitely shouldn’t be doing any of those things; not here, not now, and definitely not with Hudson Banks.

“We- we shouldn’t be doing this!” I whimper out, moaning as he sucks my earlobe between his lips.

“We should definitely be doing this,” He growls softly; “I can’t even tell you what I wanted to do with you the last time we were up here,” He says hotly into my ear, sending shivers through my whole body.

Oh, I want to know everything he wanted to do with me; everything he wants to do with me; “Show me,” I whisper out, my voice heavy with lust, and I’m shocked at my own words even as true as they are.

He’s yanking my prim and proper jacket off of me, and I’m shrugging it off my shoulders as I moan into his kiss. “Well, this, for one,” He tears my conservative blouse apart, sending the buttons scattering and making me gasp at the ferocity of him as I arch my back towards him as I feel his hands sliding over the thin lace of my bra, making my nipples pucker into hard points under his touch. His mouth slides down my neck, nipping at my skin as he kisses over the tops of my breasts. I whimper as he yanks my bra down, baring my nipples to his hungry eyes, and then I cry out as his lips wrap around one rosy nub; his tongue darting across and sending jolts of electricity shooting through my whole body.

I arch my back and thrust my chest out towards him, gasping as his mouth sucks at my sensitive nipples; “Th- that’s all you’ve been waiting five years to do?” I moan out, biting my lip as my hands running up the muscles of his arm. He answers with his hand sliding up the inside of thigh, and I whimper as he pushes my conservative skirt up around my waist as his fingers find my heat.

“No, Princess,” He says with heat in his voice as he brings his head up to stare into my eyes; “That is far from the only thing I’ve wanted to do to you for the last five fucking years.”

He growls as his fingers slide beneath the edge of my soaking wet panties and slide through my folds. “God, you’re so fucking wet for me,” he husks into my lips, and I gasp, my hands clutching at his arm muscles as he pushes a finger inside. I kiss him with a ferocity as I feel him curl his finger inside of me, stroking that special place just inside and making me whimper and moan for him. No one has ever spoken to me like that before, and the barbaric animalism of it has me desperate for more.

“Take off your shirt for me,” he says thickly, punctuating his words with a curl of his finger.

“Jesus, are you always this bossy?” I say with a grin as I begin to pull the torn blouse from my shoulders.

“Bossy?” He pulls back from lips with hungry grin on his face; “Princess, I have not even begun to show you bossy.”

“They’re fucking what?!” I almost drop the glass of champagne in my hand as I feel the floor practically drop out from beneath my feet. My campaign manager Donald’s face is impassive and steely - pretty much like it always is even in crisis meltdown situations like this - with his bushy grey eyebrows furrowing slightly like they do when he’s got news for me neither of us want to hear.

“They’re pulling out, Reagan; entirely.” I see him reach out of habit for the phantom pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket that hasn’t been there for five years; the frown in his eyebrows deepening.

“All of it?”

He sticks a pen between his lips instead of his old vice and glowers at me; “Every damn penny.”

I swear fiercely under my breath, clenching my hand tight and digging my nails into my palm as the reality of the situation hits me like a wet blanket; “How fucked are we?”

Donald tenses his face; he hates when I swear, especially in public and especially in public when there are cameras everywhere. “Lower your voice, Reagan” He mutters through the pen in his teeth, looking at me like I’m an ill-behaved child in that way that drives me crazy. In the movie version of my life, Donald is the kind and sagely grandfatherly type who guides me along a path of adorable metaphors and teary-eyed life lessons to victory. In reality, he’s cold, calculating, and robotically efficient at keeping me in line with his battle plans. But then again, kindly grandfatherly types doling out anachronisms like they were candy don’t win elections; robots do.

“They were forty percent of our campaign.”

I can feel the breath leave my lungs as the room spins around me; my lips moving soundlessly as my brain searches for the words to possible use here. This simply can’t be happening; not after we’ve worked so freaking hard to get to where we are.

Donald glares at me as he furiously chews on his poor pen; “Maybe next time, you’ll stay on the damn speech I give you instead of going off on one of your ‘save the world’ tangents, Reagan. You know they’re going to jump down you throat for that kind of things because-” His phone beeps and he frowns, trailing off as he shakes his head and mutters at whatever’s just popped up, but I can pretty much take my pick of what he was going to say anyways: “because I’m a girl”, or “because I’m the youngest person to ever run for the State Senate of New York”, or my favorite, “because I’m the daughter of the late William Archer; billionaire philanthropist/ arms dealer, depending on who’s opinion you ask.” To most people, I’m either the next great American Dream for politics, or a nut-job, which plays nicely to the split media opinion of eager-eyed media darling or poor little rich girl, depending on which new station you like to watch. I hang my head; running was one thing, but dropping out like this is going to be a news anchor joke for years.

“So this is it then? We’re done, just like that?” I can hear my voice from outside my body, my ears ringing and my jaw clenching in that way Donald always tells me not to do in front of cameras because it makes me look aggressive. I look down at the trembling glass of champagne in my hand, suddenly wishing it was the size of a movie-theater cup.

“What?” My campaign manager takes the mangled pen from his mouth and briefly wrinkles his face at it, as if just noticing how gross a habit it is. He looks up at me, a stony look on his face; “No of course not,” He snaps, a bit more condescendingly than I need right now; “We’ve been approached by another new donor who sees a lot of promise in our campaign.”

I feel myself exhale for the first time in what seems like an hour and start to shake my head; “Well Jesus, Donald, you scared the living-“

“Now, you aren’t going to like it, of course, but try to let go of personal baggage for once,” He interrupts me, his voice low as he glares at me; “Try to remember that this is about more than just you?”

Instantly, I narrow my eyes as suddenly every one of my gut instincts start to tingle at the look on his face and the tone in his voice; “Donald-” I start to shake my head, my jaw clenching as I feel the anger and the heat rising in my cheeks; “No, absolutely not! It’s not even an option!”

Even though we’re off in the corner of the big open gallery of the museum where we’ve been throwing the now seemingly-useless campaign fundraiser, people around us turn to stare at my outburst. Donald shushes me again as if I’m some child acting out; “It’s our only option, Reagan.” He huffs, “Look, we all get that you don’t want your Father’s company’s money, but it is the only move here.” Donald’s rolling his eyes at me in the obnoxiously patronizing way that makes my blood boil, and for the eight-hundredth time, I have to remind myself that he’s really good at this job, otherwise I’d have blown up in his face and told him where to stick it a month ago.

“Now, there’s a man here from Archer Holdings to meet with you, and he’d like to talk with you-”

“Ms. Archer, they need some shots with some of the museum trustees.” I’m still shaking my head furiously, my mouth open and closing like a fish out of water, when one of my staffers scurries over and starts to tug me by the arm; yanking me away from Donald before I can even come up with anything to say. I turn back to over my shoulder to yell something like “we’re not done talking about this”, but they’re already pushing me in front of the wall of flashing lights and clicking cameras and back into the spotlight where I can’t look like I want so break something.

*****

By the time they’re done, my face is feeling sore from all the fake smiles, and my palms are slick from other people’s sweaty handshakes; the hazards of the campaign trail they never tell you about. I’m extricating myself from the stuffy museum board of directors and scanning the room for another glass of champagne when I hear it - his voice; the voice from my past and the voice I haven’t heard in five years; “Hey, Princess.”

I turn and he’s just there, standing in the flesh right in front of me. I feel my breath catch in my throat as I suddenly look up into the bluest, most piercing eyes I’ve ever seen, and then I feel my pulse actually skip a beat as I fully grasp the man they’re attached to. He’s even more gorgeous than he was back then, in that unbelievable, magazine-model way. His dark hair is slicked back to one side, and beneath those stunning eyes is a cocky grin stretched across a strong, chiseled jaw, marked on one side by just the faintest white line of a scar across his clean-shaved chin. He’s the same infuriatingly hot dichotomy he was five years ago; the perfectly tailored tuxedo and gleaming silver watch on his wrist screaming money, but the teasing glimpses of tattoo ink creeping out from beneath his French cuff sleeves or the neck of his linen shirt. His lips part as he grins at me; I know those lips.

Suddenly Donald is there, beaming at this stunningly good looking man as if he’s the one running for a Senate seat instead of me; “Ahh, good, you’ve met!”

I’d almost want to laugh if my body wasn’t suddenly froze in time where I stand. Yeah, we’ve met. I complete tune Donald out as I lock eyes with the brooding and handsome man grinning that goddamn smug smile at me that hasn’t changed a bit in five fucking years. He might be a little bit older and a little bit more polished looking now, but suddenly my body is remembering exactly how I know Hudson Banks. I  know how his body feels pressed against mine, how his hands feel on the skin at the small of my back, and how his lips taste. This time, we’re sipping champagne at a $5,000 a ticket political fundraising event, instead of moaning into each other’s mouths as he grinds that hardness into my thigh, making my whole body melt for him.

It’s been five years since that night; five years since I was at my lowest - drunk, confused, and grieving. Five years since I completely embarrassed myself  by dragging this man away from the crowds at my father’s wake and attacking him like some sort of hot mess, and five years since he pushed me away from him and suddenly walked out, leaving me utterly mortified and even worse than I was before.

And in five Goddamn years, I haven’t been able to get him out of my head.

Donald is smiling benignly at me as he fawns over the smugly handsome man grinning that cocky smirk at me; “As I was saying, Mr. Banks, as you may know, works for your father’s comp-“

“We’ve met” I say it with an icy tone, trying to look everywhere else in the room but Hudson’s eyes; “And this isn’t happening, Donald.” I shake my head, my jaw set as I grind my teeth together. I’m furious, and of course embarrassed like I was that night all over again, and all I want to do is walk away from this entire horrible exchange right now.

“It is happening, Reagan.” Donald’s voice is firm and he shoots me a warning look; “This is happening or there is no campaign-“

“Then fine, there’s no campaign. It’s been a pleasure working with you, Donald.” I spit out.

“Well, nice to see you haven’t changed at all, Ray.” He says with a chuckle. He’s got that fucking smirk on his face, that cocky grin that I once found unbelievably attractive, and then I feel my face burn red as I realize I still do. He’s even more attractive now than he was back then; healthier, his eyes even sharper, those broad shoulders even stronger looking as they stretch the tuxedo just enough to show off. I’m remembering those shoulders now, and the way my hand felt hot against that hard, chiseled chest; his hands on my skin as I breathed and whimpered into his mouth.

My hand is shaking, and I grip the champagne flute tighter, willing it to stop. I do not get this way over guys, especially a prick who tried to take advantage of my grief; winding me up around his finger before shoving me away, quite literally. Hudson Banks is a fucking head-case; some ex-military jock who somehow found his way into my Father’s good graces and wound up running a whole division of his company. I shake my head again, suddenly realizing I actually would rather there not be a campaign than take my father’s money; especially if its coming from Hudson fucking Banks, however stupidly good looking and sexy he looks in that damn tuxedo with those piercing blue eyes the color of a stormy sea.

I’m dimly aware of Donald hissing at me as I shove the champagne flute into his hands and walk away, ignoring the cameras, the stuffy museum trustees, my campaign aides, and especially the hot asshole in the tuxedo, as I march right out through the museum foyer and out the door.

She storms out of the foyer and through the double glass doors into the museum courtyard, and I’m shaking my head and following her. Of course I’m following; like I’ve been following her for longer than she’s ever known and in spite of how damn bratty she gets. It’s cold out here in the open-air courtyard, and the city lights and sounds are only slightly muffled by the four walls of the museum around us.

She whirls on me with a look of fury on her face, her mouth open ready to spit fire and brimstone and vitriol at me like I know she is, when suddenly she’s slipping on the ice under her heeled feet. I move faster than my brain even knows how to; years of training and reflex just making the body move on its own accord I guess, and I’m catching her before my head even totally registers that she’s falling.

Fuck, she feels amazing in my arms. She’s come out here without a coat on in that classic hot-headed Reagan way, and as my arms go around her, I can feel the heat from her skin against my palms through the low-cut open part at the back of her dress. Her hands clutch at my jacket lapels, one seizing my arm as she gasp and tumbles right into my chest. I close my eyes for the briefest moments, smelling her perfume or shampoo, or whatever voodoo magic she’s using to bring my head completely to a stop as I just hold for a frozen moment in time.

You know, smelling her, like a totally normal person.

“Put me down,” Her voice is high and whispered, but she’s not fighting or struggling against me. I’m still frozen, feeling her hand against my chest and my shoulder like that; her hair in my face and her scent just enslaving me.

“Hudson!” She sounds more insistent this time, and now she’s pushing at my chest; “The last thing I need is some photographer snapping pictures of me canoodling with some hot prick in a tuxedo.”

I pull my face back to grin into hers; “So, five years later and you’re still thinking about my hot prick, huh?” I smirk at her, still relishing the feel of her in my arms, and doing everything I can, even if it’s obnoxious, to keep her there even a moment longer.

Reagan rolls her eyes; “Emphasis prick,” she huffs out, squirming out of my arms and stepping way from me.

“Hey, your words not mine, sweet stuff.” I wince inside, regretting saying it even before it leaves my mouth. Why the fuck can’t I just be normal around her? There’s something about the way she talks to me - the way she’s always talked to me - that brings out the fighter in me when all I want to do is be normal around her. Well, that’s of course not the only thing I want to do with her when I’m around her, but I let that thought simmer away for the time being. It doesn’t help that she’s sexy as hell standing here in the freezing cold with her red hair looking wild and fierce and wearing that ridiculously hot black dress with her nipples poking through. I can feel my cock stir in my pants, and I shake my head, trying to tear my eyes away from her perfect tits in that perfect dress with her perfect nipp-

“In your dreams, asshole.”

You have no fucking idea, babe I think inside, gritting my teeth and trying to will my erection to go away. Instead, like I always do with her, the snark comes out instead; “You know honey, Donald’s right about you.” I can see her bristling at the word honey and add that one to the list of probably slightly offensive names she clearly hates.

“What?”

“You do have a hell of a mouth on you.”

She smirks at me, all sass and sexiness; “Oh, honey, you have no idea.”

I groan inside, feeling my cock go rock-hard inside my tuxedo pants. I don’t know if she means for it to come out as innuendo-laden as it does, but before I can even think about it too hard, she whirls to march away from me and suddenly she’s slipping on the ice all over again. I lunge again, catching her once more before she falls.

“Stop touching me, Hudson!”

“Well stop fucking falling then!”

We glare at each other for a second, and it’s taking everything I have to meet her eyes and not to stare at her trembling lower lip, or further down to where I can clearly see her nipples poking out of her sheer gown. Somehow, somehow, chivalry wins out over my dick, and I let her go, putting her back on her feet. She shivers, and before I know it I’m shrugging my tux jacket off and pushing it towards her.

“Stop it, I don’t want that.” Her eyes flare defiantly, all the while rubbing her arms with her chilling looking hands.

“It’s freezing out here”

“Well I’m fine!”

I grit my teeth and roll my eyes; “Have you seriously always this fucking obstinate?”

“It’s my ‘political edge’,” she sneers out.

“Well, that’s one word for bitchy.” I cringe again inside, wondering how the hell I can go about murdering the voice inside my head that keeps insisting on letting everything out.

She frowns at me, reaching up to push a loose lock of hair behind her ear and just looking so damn cute standing there shivering; “Is there a fucking point to all this?”

Ugh, yes, if I could just stop acting like an asshole and ruining it.

I clear my throat; “Yes, actually. Archer Holdings believes in your campaign.” Christ I sound like I’m giving a board meeting address.

She purses her lips and clenches her jaw at the name; “Fantastic, well tell them to vote however their little hearts desire in the election. I’ll have my people send over some lawn signs and buttons if they’d like.”

“Cute” I mutter, seeing her frowning mouth turn up slightly at the corners.

“So, what, is my Dad trying to buy my love from beyond the grave or something?”

I grimace, feeling my muscles tense and hands clench, before I have to remind myself that she never knew William Archer like I did; like we did.

When he found me, I had nothing; less than nothing really. None of us did back then, until he dragged us back from the brinks of our own personal hells. And when I say "nothing", I don’t just mean in the material possessions sense of the word either. When a man is broken inside as I was - like all three us were - there's almost no coming back from it. In the very bottom depths of my own nightmare, with the shit I'd seen and the even worse shit I'd done, I'd given up on myself; almost.

"When a man gives up on himself, that's when he's truly gone" He'd said to me that first night, sitting in that shit-ass bar as he’d pulled the bottle away from my shaky hand when I'd reached for another drink; "And you don't seem like you're gone; not yet."

'But Goddamn close to it' is what I would've said, looking at me that night.

I asked him later what he saw in any of us when he found us in that shithole of a slum-bar on the outskirts of Kinshasa, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I was curious about me when I asked him, but Bryce had been way worse than even I was back then with his addictions. William’s only response had been a single word: "Promise."

'Promise' is what turned three shell-shocked, burned-out, drugged out soldiers for hire to the worst dictators on Earth into the disciplined new men of means we were today. We'd never be the man who saved us, but we'd pledged our lives to getting a close as possible. And a promise - not just any promise but THE promise - is what brings me out here in the freezing cold, looking at Reagan Archer and wondering how in the world a guy who'd lived through the shit I'd lived through is having the hardest time in the world trying to figure out what the hell to say to her.

P A S T

“Reagan! Ray! Do not make me late!”

“What? I’m here, jeez.” I stomp down the stairs from the second floor landing with a scowl on my face, a scowl that only deepens when Quinn and my Aunt Kelly coo and aww and gush over the frilly, stupid pink dress I’m wearing as I make my appearance.

“Oh Reagan, you look adorable, honey!” Aunt Kelly gushes; clutching her hands together eagerly before digging in her purse for her camera.

I groan; “No! No pictures!” I make a face as the flash goes off regardless, setting my jaw even harder as I stomp the rest of the way down the stairs. I am fourteen years old, still very firmly in the grasp of my anti-dress tomboy phase, and I absolutely hate that I’m dressed up like a freaking cabbage patch doll.

“Well I love my dress!” Chelsea comes bounding down the stairs, and even Quinn rolls her eyes at the exuberance. Chelsea is ten and firmly believes she’s actually a Disney princess.

“Well you look very pretty young lady!” Aunt Kelly can’t help herself  as she snaps another couple of pictures, the flashes making me turn away and shield my eyes.

“Well I look stupid, stop it.” I groan, pushing her fussing hands away from the dress; “Why do I have to wear this dumb thing?”

“Because it’s my graduation, that’s why, Ray-Ray.” Quinn giggles and sticks her tongue out as I I make a lunge at her, only to be held back by Aunt Kelly.

“Reagan!” She scolds, looking at my firmly. Aunt Kelly is one of those sweet motherly types who is incapable of looking mad no matter how hard she tries, and even at thirteen, I think I’m aware of this fact and impressed with her attempt anyways.

“She started it! I hate that name!”

Aunt Kelly turns and gives Quinn another equally as unimposing stern look; “Be nice to your sister, she is wearing the dress after all.”

“What’s the point? It’s not like Dad’s going to show up anyways.”

The silence the descends over the bottom of the stairs is palpable, and I instantly regret opening my mouth as Chelsea’s face falls and the tears start to well up in her eyes. Even always-cool Quinn looks like I slapped her in the face, and my Aunt’s face goes a shade whiter; “Now Reag-“

“Fuck you, Reagan.” Quinn spits at me as she turns and storms out the front door.

I don’t know it yet, but me and my big mouth have a long, illustrious future ahead of us.

P R E S E N T

Hudson gets weird when I mention my Dad, which only drives the wedge that’s already between us even deeper; the wedge being that I didn’t know my own Father half as well as he did.

“Look, let’s go get a drink or something and I’ll explain.”

He can not be serious.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I remember the last time with him when drinks were involved, and immediately regret it as I feel my face grow hot.

“Will you fucking relax?” He snaps, looking irritated and still holding out his jacket to me even though we both know I’m not going to take it; “Look, this isn’t about us-“

“There is no ‘us’, Hudson,” I sneer. I know I’m covering for my own embarrassment with this bitchy act, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Besides, what other way is there to act towards Hudson?

“Yeah, no shit, babe.”

I glare at him.

“Listen, Red,” He scowls at me, his blue eyes somehow looking even hotter when they’re fierce like that. I make a conscious effort to look at his chin instead.

“Believe it or not, this is about your campaign, which people are actually interested in seeing work out for you.” He shakes his head at me, as if I’m some petulant child; “Get over it being your Father’s compan-“

“Are you shitting me?” I can feel the fury rising inside as I cut him off and stare at him in disbelief; “You think this is just about me trying to act out or snub my Dad? Do I look like I’m fucking twelve years old?”

“Twelve year olds are better behaved, Princess.” He grins at me.

“Don’t call me that!” I snap shrilly; “I don’t want the money because I am not taking campaign donations from a gun manufacturer!” Half my damn platform is about cleaning up the streets and keeping firearms out of the hands of kids; how the hell did Donald OK this?

Hudson purses his lips - those perfect, totally kissable-

“We got out of all that, it’s nothing we do anymore.” He says evenly, his eyes staring into mine.

“Sure.”

He sighs loudly, rolling his eyes at me; “Jesus, have you always been this ridiculous? Look, just come have a fucking drink with me and I’ll explain everything.”

I know the sneering face I make at him plays entirely into his calling me childish but I just don’t care. I turn back to the doors and see Donald standing behind them back inside the museum, giving me a scowl and shaking his head, and I can practically feel his disapproval from here.

“Fine; let’s go.”

*****

“This is your car?”

He looks up from the passenger door he’s opened for me with a smug expression; “Yep”

Of course it is; I roll my eyes, wondering for the ninth time since we walked out of my own fundraising event why on earth I said yes to this.

The sleek black vintage Charger is sexy as hell, but it’s just so overtly masculine and absurdly macho that I just shake my head as I slide into the passenger side of the bench seat.  A car like this, of course, usually says that you’re making up for something else. I instantly feel my face flush scarlet with the memory of that one moment and the size of that thickness pressing against me as he kissed me.

Hudson Banks isn’t making up for a thing with this car.

I jump from my naughty daydream when his hand brushes my knee as he reaches for the shifter; “Easy there, hands-y,” I quip, shooting him a look.

“Oh, relax and put your seatbelt on, Senator.”

I’m about to respond when he roars away from the curb fast enough to take the breath from my lungs and send a surge of adrenaline right through my core as we tear off into the cold city night.

*****

The place we end up going is way fancy; like, the kind of bar that’s got so much class you can hardly get away with just calling it a “bar” anymore at all. As we’re ushered in, I’m suddenly glad we’re dressed the way we are, with him in a tuxedo and me in my gown. Although something tells me when I see the Benjamin that Hudson palms the maitre-d that he’d be seated wearing nothing at all.

Images of Hudson’s chiseled, shirtless torso, and the big hint of what’s hidden lower flood my mind as we take a seat at the far end of the elegant bar-top.

“What are you drinking?”

“Huh?” I shake my head, feeling my cheeks burn as I try and clear my head of the dirty fantasies throbbing and undulating through my brain involving the man sitting next me. This is the man I need to loath and despise on pretty much every principal I have, not the man who’s cock I should be fantasizing about. I don’t really drink much, and I can actually still feel the half-glass of champagne I had back at the fundraiser buzzing through me, but I shrug apologetically at the bartender anyways; “Oh, uh, wine I guess? Something white?”

He smiles and turns to Hudson with a curt nod before he moves down to the other end of the bar.

“He knows what I want,” Hudson says with a wink. He lets his eyes linger down the neck of my dress as he grins; the subtext that I should know what he wants too isn’t exactly lost on me. I clear my throat and look away.

I let my eyes wander around the demurely lit, sleek and modern-looking room that reeks of money, taking the place in; “Come here often?” The place is full of gorgeous women; all young and hot and digging - and Hudson looks like he’s made out of solid gold.

“Often enough, sure.”

Yeah I bet, I think, eyeing the trio of skanks giggling and batting their eyes in Hudson’s direction from the other end of the bar. The jealousy takes me by surprise, and find myself shaking my head; confused by it. Why on earth am I so heated about this? There is no “Hudson and I”; it was one night, five fucking years ago, and we basically just kissed.

Well, kissed with his shirt half undone and his hand on my skin, teasing across my hip and sliding down across the wetness at the front of my panties. I cough again to clear my throat and my thoughts as the bartender returns with my wine, and something that looks like it jumped off the kids menu at a chain restaurant that he sets down in front of Hudson.

“Uh, what the hell is that?”

Hudson shrugs as he takes a sip out of the straw; well, after he pushes aside the ridiculous little bouquet of thin orange slices and maraschino cherries adorning the top of it; “It’s a Shirley Temple.” He says matter-of-factly.

I snort, a grin teasing my lips; “Are you serious?”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot; “Of course I am, they’re delicious.”

I grin in spite of myself, seeing the glimmer of his own in return as his blue eyes flash at me; “Right, if you’re seven years old.”

“I don’t really drink anymore.”

I laugh, and it comes out harsher than intended; “Since when?”

“Since-“ He wags his head side to side as if weighing something; “I just don’t anymore.”

I stare at him and then the glass of wine I didn’t really want anyways; “Well why are we at a bar to talk then if you don’t drink?”

He turns and winks at me, that smug smile totally back and spread across his face; “Because you looked like you needed one.”

I take a big slug from my glass, certainly as an excuse to tear my eyes away from him, but also because the way he looks at me really does make me need a drink.

“You know you’re sunk without the money, right?” It’s hard to take the guy seriously - no matter how fucking sexy he looks in that tux with the tattoos peeking out - with that stupid straw in between his lips and the cherry stems tickling his nose, but his words jolt me back to our reason for being here just the same.

“Fine.”

He looks surprised; “Fine?”

“I said fine, OK?” As much as I hate to admit it, I know he’s right. I know the whole run is over without the campaign money from Archer Holdings, I just hate giving him the satisfaction of hearing me tell him he’s right. He looks impressed with himself; like he’s “won” and I’m submitting to him, and not in the way that just won’t get out of my thoughts being this close to him. “I just don’t see why you had to be here though,” I glare at him; “Don’t you have interns, or fucking servants or whatever to do this sort of thing for you?”

He smirks at the ‘servants’ line; “Well, there’s a bit more to it than that.” I raise an eyebrow and his eyes sparkle as he winks at me; “It’s not just the money.”

Oh really.

“Well, what then.” I’m getting tired of feeling like he’s playing with me, especially since in my head he’s playing with me in a very different way and it’s distracting me to the point of anxious.

“You’re pissing a lot of people off with your platform.” He says the words carefully, as if choosing them as he utters them.

“I’m making a lot of people happy with my platform, which is why I’m way ahead in the polls, actually.” Now it’s my turn to be smug as I sit back and sip on my wine.

He turns to face me fully, his face the most serious I’ve seen from him yet; “Let’s just say that there are things out there that you don’t see that I do,” His eyes drop to the front of my gown and he grins for just a hair of a second; just long enough to tell me he can see how erect my nipples are before he drags his eyes back up to mine

I roll my eyes; “You know, those of us who don’t make a buck selling guns to third-world war-zones have a slightly more positive outlook on the world.” Ok I’ll admit I need my father’s company’s money, but I don’t need Hudson’s negativity packaged along with it.

He wraps his soft lips around his straw and sucks gently, his eyes never leaving mine as he sips on his Shirley Temple, and it’s probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen involving grenadine. I feel an aching pull deep inside that brings a fresh flush to my cheeks, and I can feel my nipples hardening beneath my gown even more despite the warmth of the room. God damn you, Hudson Banks.

“Well, those of us who have been around those third-world war zones don’t have the luxury of that fantasy, which is why I’ll be sticking around to make sure you’re ok.”

I frown; “Excuse me?”

“Me; around. I’m going to be watching you during the campaign.” He grins, and the motion pulls the skin of his neck just enough that I catch another glimpse of the dark ink there just under his collar, and I’m instantly fascinated with knowing what else is under that shirt before I shake the though from my head. “Maybe you should think of it as less someone watching you and more just Archer Holdings looking after it’s investment,” He arches his brow as he sips at his Shirley Temple; “Which is you, in this scenario.”

I can feel my blood begin to boil as I struggle to keep my temper in check; “You can’t be serious,” I mutter to him through gritted teeth; “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Hudson shrugs nonchalantly, that smug look never leaving his face; “Well, agree to disagree then.”

I can feel the heat rising in my face to match the growing volume of my voice; “I’m serious, Hudson, I’m not doing this. I’ll call Dona-“

“Donald agrees with me, actually.”

Dammit; this is a setup. Donald’s not worried about something happening to me, he’s worried about me going off his by-the-book script and doing something to shake up the campaign in a way he can’t control. Hudson might think he needs to “protect me” or whatever, but I know the real reason for all this is so Donald can have someone babysit me.

Fuck that.

I’m out of my seat and storming across the room before Hudson can put down his stupid kids drink. At the front door, I feel his strong hand grab my arm, pulling me around. “Relax, Reag-“

“Do not tell me to ‘relax’!” I hate when people say that to me.”

“Fine, don’t relax then;” His voice is stoney, even though he’s still got that stupid smug look on his chiseled jaw. “Look, where are you going?”

God, the nannying starts already.

“Home, Hudson. I’m going home.” I yank my arm out of his grasp and turn back towards the door.

“I’ll drive yo-“

“I’m taking the train or a cab like a normal person.” I spit at him.

“Fine, I’ll meet you there then I guess.”

I freeze; “What do you mean?”

He frowns; “Didn’t Donald tell- Oh. Fuck.” He chuckles and looks at the floor, a lock of his dark hair falling over his face. He runs a hand up through it and pushed it back as he raises his eye to look at me with that smug grin I’d just started to forget about; “Well, if you were mad before, you’re gonna be fuckin pissed now.”

I shake my head; “Hudson what the fuck are you-“

“I’m moving in, Reagan.”

My jaw drops.

“I mean my place would be better, and safer, but Donald and I both thought there was a snowballs chance in you agreeing to that one, so your place it is.”

That smug prick is grinning at me like this is hilarious; like HIM of all fucking people moving into the guest room of MY apartment is the funniest Goddamn joke in the world.

I don’t even respond, I just turn on my heel and march out of the restaurant; guess I’m just fresh out of punchlines.

P A S T

I’m back in the broiling heat, the shrieking chaos and the pure, undiluted hell on Earth of war -  back in Helman Province; back in Afghanistan. My back’s to the wall, my pulse racing in my ears like a goddamn jet engine as I count to three before whipping around the corner and firing. Th gun jolts in staccato, hammering pulses through my shoulder as I focus on the shelled-out office building where they’ve taken defensive positions. I barely even hear the mortar warning through my com before the Humvee forty feet to my left just fucking erupts in fire and light, and I can fucking feel the hot flash of death cross my face.

I’m screaming as I run, ignoring everything in my earpiece and barely registering the singing sounds of bullets flying around me as I pound the turf as fast as I can towards the raging, burning hull of the truck. I’m ten feet from it, the heat almost unbearable when I can hear Logan’s voice barking in my ear; ‘NOT Bryce’s Humvee.’

Yeah but who’s-

Later, I’ll swear to everything in this world and the next that I could hear the fucking bullet the second before it tore through my shoulder. I’m down, face-down in the dust and ash as more metal screams over my head, and all I know in that moment is that despite every thought I have on freedom, and my country, and about good triumphing over evil, if I die there, in that fucking desert, I’m going to have words to say to whatever God is waiting for me on the other side.

P R E S E N T

I grunt and blink the sweat out of my eyes as I swing again, feeling the rivulets of moisture drip down my face and neck to dribble down over the ink and scars of my bare chest. The air burns in my lungs and my arms are one fire, but I just keep swinging; always swinging. The glove connects with the bag, every muscle in my arm screaming in pain and triumph at the perfect hit and the aching, numbing soreness I know will follow. Some guys when they got back, they drank or fucked it away; like I used to. Other guys like Bryce took it worse and turned to self medication, and the whole dark, broken dream that comes along for the ride with that. The fucked up part is, the pain never actually goes away. You can numb it a million different ways with drugs and sex and whatever else you can think of to distract you from the fact that part of your soul is missing, but it’s always there, right below the surface.

I swing again, swallowing the burning in my throat as I pant, pushing myself harder, longer; don’t stop, never stop. My breaths coming short and hard, my head swimming as I connect with the bag again, and again, and again - I connect with the bag one more time before the pain is so real I can’t actually lift my arm again, and I collapse onto the living room floor. I can barely breath, or see through the sweat, but I laugh as I glance at my stopwatch and realize I’ve been punching this damn bag for an hour straight.

I’m getting too old for this shit.

I also realize I was supposed to call Logan when I got home and let him know how things went.

Oh, yeah, you know, fantastic. Hey buddy, thanks for sending me into the fucking LION’S DEN back there with Reagan Archer.

I know he and Bryce have no idea what happened with Reagan and I that one time - the time I got so close to everything before I let it all blow away - because if they did they’d have probably killed me by now. Well, Bryce maybe, but Logan for sure. But, I also know neither of them are blind. I mean, I’d like to think I play things close to the chest, but you don’t go through what we went through without being able to read the other guys like an open book.

*****

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!“

I wince as I hold the phone away from my ear. Ok, I made two mistakes tonight. The first was taking Reagan Archer out to what was basically a thinly veiled date; the second - and maybe the dumber of the two - is telling Logan about it.

I’m supposed to be at Reagan’s, but after the way she stormed out like that, I knew pushing it by going over anyways was not going to lead to good things. So I’m back at my penthouse, with two of my guys keeping a low-profile guard on her building.

“Hudson, you’ve pulled some stupid shit, but this is beyond the fucking pale.” I can practically feel the venom leaking through the phone from his voice before he barks into the receiver again; “You fucking idiot!”

“Logan!” I yell, reaching for the pack of emergency cigarettes I keep behind the spoons in my silverware drawer and tapping one out; "Look, it was stupid, I know. I-"

"Did you fuck her?" Logan spits out, his voice ice cold; that tone he only takes when he’s about to fuck something up - like, in this instance, my face, the next time he sees me.

"Wha- No! Comon man!” I stick the God-knows how old cigarette in my mouth and light it, coughing on the dry, ancient smoke that fills my lungs like burning sand.

"Oh, and smoking; nice. Good fucking job, Hudson; hell of a night you're having."

"Will you calm the fuck down!" I spit out, making a face. The cigarette tastes like a horse’s asshole; well, at least what I imagine the butt of a horse tastes like at least. “Of course I didn't, whats wrong with you man? She’s not that kind-“

"That wasn't meant as a dis on her, idiot. That's 'cause I know you."

I suck at the horrible cigarette, feeling the bile rise in my burning throat; "The hell is that supposed to mea-"

"The guy who slept his way through half of Italy and Turkey? The guy that almost got us shipped over to the fucking U.S. State Department in Cairo because he couldn't keep his fucking dick in his goddamn pan-“

"That was a long time ago, bud.” My voice is beyond frosty. And it was. I’m a different guy now, and I’ve worked damn hard to get here.

Logan is quiet on the other end of the line for a moment, his breathing coming in regular, controlled measures. Finally, he sighs; "I know; I know man." His voice is calmer, and he’s back to speaking to me like a normal person; "Look, I'm sorry brother."

"It's cool" I mutter out. That’s one thing about the three us; we might fight like the devil amongst ourselves sometime, but we’re always quick to tamp that fire out. I guess that’s what going through what we went through does to you.

"You can't date her; you know that, right?"

I stamp out the cigarette in my kitchen sink and turn on the viking range to clear the smell of smoke out of the place; "Yeah, I know that."

"We're supposed to watch them, Hudson; that was the promise. To protect and help them, and make sure they're safe." Logan pauses; “That's it, brother. There are other fish in-"

"Ok! I know! Fuck-“ I trail off as I walk back into the massive library off the kitchen where I’ve set up my boxing bag and stare out through the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows at the New York City skyline. The old me would have loved to show off this view to any and every girl I could charm up here, but I’ve stopped all that now; because of the promise.

Well, and of course, because of her.

Except I can’t let that happen; not what I want to let happen. I toss the phone onto the couch behind me after I hang up with Logan and turn to stare back out through the window at New York. All of this - the money, the penthouse with the view, the cars, the girls, the power - all of this means nothing, really. And I don’t need Logan telling me how I can’t bring her into all of my baggage; I already know that. I already know that I can’t let her in; its why I pushed her away before as much as it’s killed me for five fucking years thinking about it.

I’m broken, and a girl like Reagan Archer is the last person on earth I need to sift through the pieces.

P A S T

“I can’t go back, man.” Bryce’s eyes have a wild look in them, and even though he’s technically looking at me, it’s more like he’s looking through me. He’s rocking on the balls of his feet; “Fuck, man; fuck.”

Logan looks up from where he’s pulling the bits of shrapnel fragments out of my arm and meets my eyes, quietly shaking his head; “It’s not like we haven’t discussed this before, Hud.”

I nod grimly, wincing as he squirts disinfectant over the gash in my bicep he’s just pulled the piece of Humvee fender out of. Sure, we’d all thought it before, even talked about it when it was just the three of us. Any guy out here in this fucking hell on Earth is a liar if they tell you they’ve never even thought about the idea of just lighting out of there. Following orders and saying yes is the one thing they drill into your head more than anything else in training. Fuck; saying yes is the glue that hold the entire chain of command together. You say yes, you shut your damn mouth, and you follow your fucking orders; that’s the job. You don’t debate yourself, you don’t weigh anything against whatever moral compass you’ve got spinning inside, you just do it. If the call was bad, then it was bad, but you move on.

Except what if you can’t? What if you hit that one wall of your spirit inside they never got through; the wall to the part inside that keeps you being human when you’re faced with the horrifically inhumane every single day?

It’s just the three of us left now from the nine of us that found ourselves in the Taliban ambush. I swallow heavily and choke back the rage as I glance back a the first of the two Humvees we rolled in with; the one that hit the IED and lit up like the fucking Hindenburg before they even knew what happened. I look around us at the burning wreckage of the village. In war, bullets don’t discriminate between Taliban psychos trying to murder you and innocent villagers just trying to get the fuck out of the way, as much as you try to do so. I look at the bodies strewn across charred and cratered streets and in the smoldering ruins of what were homes, businesses…

…Or a school, like the one that burns quietly like a funeral pyre behind us.

Logan catches my glance and shakes his head fiercely; “That isn’t what we signed up for, man.” He follows my eyes to the burning school; neither of knowing but both of us hoping to God it was empty; “I’m here to fight for my country, not watch bombs drop out of the sky onto fucking schools.” He spits, his face shaking.

“Drop out of the sky; right out of the sky.” Bryce is staring at the dirt in front of him and just rocking back and forth.

“So, what, we just walk away? Here in the middle of the fucking desert?”

Logan catches my eye and nods quietly; “The radio went out with that second IED hit; as far as they know back at base, the whole damn convoy got taken out.” He gives me a hard look; “This isn’t going to stop, Hudson. Every mission is going to be like this; every mission is going to be bad guys hiding behind kids and the guys back home hammering them with bombs anyways.”

“You’re talking about desertion of duties during wartime, Logan.” I say my words slowly; “They shoot you for that.”

“I’m going to shoot myself if I have to be part of something like that!“ Logan jabs his finger at the burning school across the shelled street at us, the flames still licking the burning Afghan air.

“And it’s only desertion if they think you deserted. If you’re dead, well…” He trails of and looks up at the mountains on the horizon.

“Where the fuck would we go, man? What do we do, fucking walk back to the States?”

“I don’t think we do go back, Hud; ever.”

I swallow heavily as I let his words sink in; we’d never go home. I mean it’s not like there’s anything left for me back there anyways. It’s not like my job at the garage before I enlisted was my dream career, and the only family that still even remembers who I am is my drunk asshole Dad, and if he remembers who I am between sips from that bottle, I’d be fucking shocked. Really, at this point the only family I’ve got are these two guys right here; my de facto brothers. I don’t know much about either of their lives before the Marines either, but I’ve heard enough to know they’re not much different than me.

“So, where?”

Logan’s face is grim; “Haul ass to the Chinese boarder, skip across and try and hook up with some of the Blackriver guys there.” He shrugs; “We’re not the first guys to do this, Hud, and the mercenary groups are always picking up guys with skills and a spotty background checks.”

I grimace; “You want to be mercenaries? Out of the frying pan into the fire?”

Logan’s laugh is hollow, and it ricochets sharply off the empty streets of the village; “Look around you, man; we’re already in the fucking fire!”

Bryce looks up at Logan’s outburst, his eyes looking more focused for a moment as he nods; “We can’t go back, Hudson.”

Yeah yeah, you can never go back, as they say. Except this time, I know they’re right. I’m already a completely different man than I was before, but I’ll be damned if I let them take the rest of me; “So, thats our only option?”

“We’re in hostile territory in an active war-zone, surrounded by countries that hate the United States and people that would kill each other to be the first to string us up or cut our fucking heads off,” Logan looks at me and his eyes soften for a second; “I don’t really see what other option we’ve got, man.”

Fuck it; he’s right and we all know it. It’s go forward or go back, and we all know we can’t go back. I turn to Bryce and nod at his twisted ankle; “You ok to walk?”

He shrugs, yanks the morphine pen out of his med-pack and stabs himself in the thigh with it; “Now I am.” He grins.

Logan nods towards the pickup  parked next to burning sheep hut that looks relatively untouched; I’ll drive if you can navigate, Hud.”

Fuck, we’re really doing this. “Any fucking idea where China is?”

“East?” He chuckles, winking at me; “Out of the frying pan, Hud, and out of the fire.”

*****

Months later though, it still feels like we’re very much in the fire. When we’re scraping by, making a living selling ourselves and our services and parts of our souls to whatever awful piece of shit will pay us the most, I know we all still feel the burn. When Logan goes a little crazy, and Bryce goes to the needle, and I decided to be just like my father and find peace in the bottom of a bottle, it sure as shit still feels like we’re in the fire. Maybe we can never go back, but we’ve also got no place left to go.

We feel those flames for more than a year like that; the hurt and the pain searing itself into us every single day. That is, until the day we meet William Archer, and everything changes.

P R E S E N T

I wake up to the sound of my apartment door slamming shut, and sit bolt upright.

I live alone.

I’m out of bed before my head is even fully awake, and I grab the first deadly weapon I can find, which happens to be one of the heels I wore last night. With the fiercest face I can muster with my heart hammering in my chest, I fling open my bedroom door and scream bloody murder as I brandish the stiletto at the figure standing in my hallway shrugging of a winter jacket.

He turns and grins that cocky, arrogant smirk of his at me; “And a good morning to you too, Princess.”

Hudson?!

I freeze with the stiletto still brandished above my head, blinking as I stare at him trying to figure out just what the hell he's doing standing in my apartment and leering at me like that at 6:30 in the morning.

"What- I mean, how-" I start to sputter, my mind still trying to piece together the reality him being here right now when I see his eyes dip for a moment, and his grin only gets bigger as his eyebrow arches along with his smirk.

I am suddenly keenly aware of the fact that I'm standing in the hallway with him in nothing but a thin t-shirt and panties, and with a gasp, I'm dashing back into my room and slamming the door to the sound of his laughter. "What the fuck are you doing here?!" I shriek through the door as I press my forehead against the wood and groan to myself as my face burns bright with embarrassment; "How did you even get in?"

Hudson is still laughing, and I can hear him jangling something against the other side of the door that sounds like keys; “Donald gave me a set," He chuckles, pointedly ignoring the first part of my questions. I yank on some pajama pants and fling the door open again just as he marches past my door into the kitchen. My eyes narrow at his back, trying to will my cheeks to stop being so damned red.

"Aw, no battle-cry this time?" He turns and grins at me, his eyes twinkling; "I'm hurt."

"Yeah well, break into my place again and you will be hurt." I mutter, feeling my ears burn as he only chuckles at my empty threat and breezes past me into the kitchen.

I'm momentarily thrown off by suddenly realizing what he's wearing. He's not in a tux this time, and is instead curiously in running shorts and an black undershirt, despite the fact that it's freezing outside. I stare at him as he pokes his nose into my refrigerator, totally forgetting my train of thought as my eyes rove over the sleeves of tattoo's running up his muscled and defined arms and across his chest and collarbone. I’ve seen them partially before I guess, but it’s only now seeing them in the daylight that I realize how beautiful they are. I recognize one image as the same Marine corp emblem that my father had inked onto his arm as well, but on Hudson the design is set into a twisting and complex background of other images and inked names.

I’m once again drawn to his shorts and I wrinkle my brow; ”Wait, what are you wearing?"

He frowns; "What do you wear to the gym?"

"We're not at the gym, though."

He grins; "Yeah, but we will be after we eat."

"Excuse me?"

He sighs heavily and rolls his eyes as he pulls away from the fridge with a carton of Almond milk in his hands. My jaw drops as I watch him open it before he brings it to his lips and takes a swig.

"What are you doing?”

"Oh relax, cupcake, I don't have cooties," He makes a face and stares at the carton in his hand before turning to me and shaking his head; "Almond milk? What the hell kind of-"

"What, I'm lactose intolerant,” I grumble, brusquely pushing past him and trying to shove the fact that his arm just brushed against my side out of my head. I push the button on the espresso machine and turn back to him.

Hudson snorts; "Of course you are."

"Remind me why you're here again?" I say, feeling the temper rising in my voice. I'm taking the damn campaign money, and I'm even taking it knowing that I'm going to have to deal with Hudson as a direct consequence of that. But what I am not signing up for is him barging into my home and seeing me in my underwear at a 6:30 in the morning.

"I told you last night, to protect our investment." He swigs from the carton of almond milk again before I rip it out of his hands and throw it away. Hudson grins at me, as if laughing at my admittedly childish behavior.

"But why you," I say, venom dripping from my words.

"You mean, besides having been a soldier?"

"How could I forget" I snap. Actually, I don't know why I say that. I mean I vaguely know he served just from hearing my father mention it once or twice, but its not like I’ve ever heard Hudson say anything about it. For a moment, my eyes are drawn back to the marine emblem on his bicep, and as my gaze looks higher, for the first time I notice a a shiny looking scar the size of a quarter on his upper shoulder.

"Thanks, yeah I've been hitting the gym a lot recently."

I shake my head and frown at him; "What?"

Hudson is smirking at me, and he leans forward towards me, one arm reaching past my side to hold himself up against the countertop. He's suddenly very close to me - closer than I want him to be - and in spite of every part of me trying to stop it, I'm suddenly remembering the last time he had me pressed against something.

"It's just that I saw you checking out my arms," He shrugs, looking so fucking arrogant and so fucking hot at the same time that it's make the gears in my head grind against each other.

Even though I can feel the heat from his body he's so close to me, and my gut instinct wants to grab him and pull him crushing against my body, instead, I narrow my eyes at him; "Do shit lines like that ever work?"

The smug look on his face drops for just a second; just long enough for me to know I've scored a hit against great unflappable, unshakeable Hudson Banks.

His smirk is back in a second though, and he's grinning as he pulls back from me and turns back to the fridge; “Oh you have no idea, Red.”

I roll my eyes; "There's no reason for you to be here, you know." It's weird, wanting him to get the hell out of here but at the same time wanting him to stay so badly it hurts.

"This isn't some sort of spy movie you know," I snap; “There isn't a terrorist outside about to crash through the window and murder or kidnap a State Senate candidate. The world is not all a terrible, dangerous place, Hudson.”

He turns to me, slowly munching on what may or may not be Chinese food from a week ago; "Do you really think of the world like that?" He shakes his head; "That's adorable."

"Damnit, Huds-"

"The world is full of bad people, Reagan." He says quietly. For the first time since he's let himself into my apartment - or my life, for that matter - he doesn't have that obnoxiously smug grin on his face and it's like I'm actually seeing the real him, with clarity and without armor, for the first time.

"Anyways," he says, breaking the moment and grinning as his armor goes right back up; "Go put some gym stuff on, lets go."

I frown, finally reaching for the much needed espresso that’s finally stopped dripping from the machine; "Why? And where are we going?"

Hudson rolls his eyes; "To the gym, dummy. Unless you wanna work out in those cute panties you had on earlier, in which case I'm all for it."

Yeah, moment of clarity shattered.

I stare at Hudson like he's nuts before gesturing towards the icy-looking window with the wind whipping against it; "Are you kidding me? I'm not going to the gym, it's freezing outside!"

"Seems like it's a little cold in here too, toots." He smirks and nods at my chest, and I look down to realize my nipples are poking out through my thin t-shirt. I hastily cross my arms over my chest.

"What are you, ten? Seriously thought, I'm not going to-"

He cuts me off by tapping a piece of paper printed with what looks suspiciously like a time-table and shaking his has as he grins at me; "Donald's schedule, Princess; not to be ignored."

Something tells me arrogant, filthy rich, obnoxious and tattooed Hudson Conners doesn't give a flying shit about keeping schedules, and I know he's just doing this to get to me, which I am determined to not let happen.

"Fine, lets go." I turn and start to march down the hall back to my room.

"Oh, panties it is then?" He calls after me, and I swear its almost as if I can feel his eyes on my butt, looking right through my pajamas.

I slam the door to my room, shutting him off again.

P A S T

“I don’t understand why I need to wear this fucking monkey suit.” I grow, shifting uncomfortably as the tailor pats the inside of my leg and secures the expensive fabric with a pin from his mouth. I look up at the Old Man, and he’s grinning at me in this mix of amusement and something I can’t quite place- it could be pride, but I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever seen that emotion on someone’s face directed at me.

But, there’s a lot of new things in my world after meeting William Archer. New like being back in the States and working for his company, or like having more money than I know what to do with; new things like a new identity. “Hudson” is easy to keep, since it’s what the guys called me in the service after I got busted singing Billy Joel’s “New York State of Mind” in the shower one night when I thought I was the only one up, and I was all too happy to drop my Dad’s fuckin last name for my Mother’s maiden one.

“You wear that fucking monkey suit, Hudson, because it’s your costume; it’s your disguise. That fucking monkey suit will open doors for you that would otherwise be closed; doors you never even imagined existed. It’s the mark of a man at a certain place in the world, and it lets those around him know what that place is.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, grinning; “Did you rehearse that?” He’s chuckling and I shake my head; “You rehearsed it, didn’t you.”

William shakes his head, exhaling slowly; “Shut up and turn around, Marine.”

I mock salute and roll my eyes as I turn; “Yes si-“

Well, shit.

The man who looks back at me in the trifold floor-length mirror is like a me from another alternate reality. It’s me - those are my eyes looking back at me, but that’s the only thing I could possibly guess is the same, and it’s not just the suit. It’s everything about me that I almost don’t recognize, and my brain can’t even begin to process how much of a good thing that is. I need the old me to not be recognized, even by me; hell, especially by me. The old me needs to be purged in the fires of what’s to come, and the new direction my life is going in faster than I can almost catch up with.

“So, what do you think.” The Old Man looks smug behind me as he looks at me through the mirror.

“I think I- I look different?”

William tilts his head toward the tailor, who nods before ducking out of the room; “You look like a person again, Hudson. You look like a man ready to finally be one.”

I’m remembering that shitty dive in Kinshasa, when the first guy I’d seen in months that didn’t look like some kind of criminal or terrorist sat down next to me at the bar and introduced himself.

“You know I’d never let you down, Sir, but are you sure- I mean, just because we were in the Marin-“

“If you think I’m ‘hooking you up’ with a job like this just because we share a common military history-” He trails off, shaking his head; “I do not make decisions like this lightly, Hudson. You of all people should know that.”

I nod.

“The company needs someone like you; someone like all three of you actually. We need men who can react-“ He steps closer to me, his eyes boring into mine; “And men who’ve looked the devil in the face like you have and lived to know what it takes to walk away; what it means to keep a piece of your humanity when it seems like you can’t.” He smiles suddenly at me, breaking the spell; “So that’s why you’re wearing that fucking monkey suit, Hudson.” He smirks and winks at me; “Think of it as a uniform. I’d think even a Marine could wrap his grunt head around that way of looking at it”.

I grin and look at myself in the mirror again, still amazed at the image looking back at me of the man I never imagined I could be.

“It’s a responsibility, Hudson; that’s something else I don’t take lightly.” His voice is quieter, and when I look up I can see the solum and somber look in his eyes.

“Yes si-“

“You’ve come a long way, Hudson, but there are demons still on your back I’m going to need you to shake at some point.” I’m still drinking, and we both know that. I mean, I’m drinking less, but addiction is addiction no matter how you quantify it.

“I need you in control, Hudson.” His eyes flash as he looks at thew visage of the new me in the mirror; “Are you in control?”

P R E S E N T

This is getting ridiculous. This girl is way too hot for me to be doing this whole pseudo-bodyguard thing, even though I can tell she's the type that doesn't even know it. I honestly don’t know what the fuck Logan and Bryce were thinking; hell I don’t know what I was thinking signing up for this, but this is too much. I mean a man can only take so much.

We’re at the gym, and she’s working out; in fucking yoga pants and the worlds tightest, clingiest tank top. I mean honestly, how am I supposed to fucking deal with that?

At least the place is secure. Reagan might eschew her father’s money, but she’s got enough of it herself along with some sense to pick a gym that caters to the those who don’t want their picture being taken while they’re grunting out a squat or puffing away on a treadmill. The fact that we’re entirely alone in the gym has a secondary bonus too, in that no ones around to see that I’m rock hard inside my gym shorts as I watch her.

I mean, I’m trying to tear my eyes away from the ice queen herself here, except the ice queen happens to have a fantastic ass, and from where I’m sitting pretending to do arm curls on a bench behind her while she climbs the stair-master, it’s taking every ounce of my willpower not to grab her by the hips, yank those skin-tight yoga pants right off that ass, and bury my face between her legs.

Jesus Christ, get a hold of yourself, psycho.

She’s barely tolerating my being there, but she knows she’s stuck with me thanks to the board at Archer Holdings and thanks to Donald and his rigid schedule. I mean, I get it; she wants to be taken seriously as a real candidate and not just some pretty little rich girl with a killer smile (and a great rack, for that matter) who wants to play politics. But as annoying as he is, Donald does have a point; you gotta work those strong points, and Reagan's strong points do happen to include the fact that she's young and hot and fit. Give the people what they want, and all that.

Hence, the mandatory gym visit on today's schedule.

"Stare much?"

I shake my head and drag my eyes up, seeing that she's stopped the machine and is giving me a strange look over her shoulder. Her straight red hair is pulled up in this adorable little ponytail, and I just want to grab it and use it to guide my-

Jesus I need to get laid.

"Huh?"

She rolls her eyes; "I said, 'stare much', as in, quit staring at my ass, perv."

Put on some fucking snow pants, or a burka or something and maybe I will I grumble to myself, knowing I probably still would.

“Ray, your staff said you had a new bodyguard or someth-“

I turn at the sound of the door to the weight room opening and instantly lock eyes with a younger, blonde version of Reagan.

“Oh, it’s you.” She’s got the same look on her face Reagan had on this morning, without of course the distracting element of being Reagan; and of course, not standing there in just her panties.

“Lovely, another warm welcome.” I plaster on my biggest, most fake smile for the Old Man’s youngest daughter and Reagan’s little sister; “Hello, Chelsea.”

“What are you doing here, Hudson?”

“Just waiting for smiles like yours, sweetheart.” I smirk at her. Jesus, do all these Archer girls walk around with chips on their shoulders all fucking day?

“Don’t call her that.” Reagan’s snapping at me as she gets off the machine. She breezes past me, shouldering me out of the way as she goes to hug her sister; “What’s up, Chels?”

I can see Chelsea’s stormy, guarded facade start to fall as her older sister hugs her, and then her face crumbles as the tears begin to drop.

“It’s Andrew, he- with her!“

I hate seeing girls cry. Seriously, no matter how bitchy Chelsea just was to me for a girl I’ve met all of like once, I instantly want to put my arms around them both and tell her that whatever it is, it’s going to be ok.

Just then though, Reagan looks up and see’s me staring at them. Her face curls into a snarl; “Do you mind?”

I shrug, not ready to get bounced that easily; “What’s the problem?”

Chelsea whirls on me with a sneer on her lips; “Oh what, billionaire womanizer Hudson Banks has some magical advice on cheating boyfriends I suppose?”

It’s almost funny when you talk to people who clearly have no idea where you came from, and who you really are.

“I do, actually;” I shrug again; “Ditch him.”

Chelsea rolls her eyes; “Gee, thanks, Hudson but it’s not that simpl-“

“No, it really is.” Reagan is staring at me with a strange mix of loathing and curiosity, but I force myself to concentrate on Chelsea; “He’s not going to suddenly just change, Chelsea. As a former lying, cheating asshole, I feel pretty confident in telling you that.” I level my eyes at her; “Just ditch him.” I can see her frown begin to fade as my words sink in; “You’re a strong, confident, beautiful girl, Chelsea, and you don’t need dead-weight like whoever this total idiot is holding you down.”

Chelsea’s fierce look is gone as stares at me with a whole new, much nicer expression on her face; “Um, thanks Hudson.” She looks confused for a second, as if amused that those words came out of my mouth, before her face suddenly breaks into a big grin as she smiles at me; all traces of her former sneer gone. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Reagan shooting a venomous look at her sister, as if she’s somehow traitorous just for not acting like a total bitch to me like Reagan is. I’m almost ashamed to admit the sense of smug satisfaction I get in seeing it.

“He really is kind of an idiot, isn’t he?” Chelsea shrugs in a defeated way, and I find myself opening even more.

“To cheat on an Archer girl like you?” I shrug and wink at her; “Total idiot; must be blind too, which almost makes me feel bad for him.”

Chelsea blushes and grins at me and I see Reagan roll her eyes dramatically and turn back to reach for the water bottle she’s left on the stair-master machine. For whatever reason, I suddenly feel compelled to push her buttons even more on this.

“Why don’t we all go out to lunch? My treat, of course.”

Chelsea’s nodding eagerly but Reagan cuts her off; “Thanks but no thanks, we came here in gym clothes, remember?”

I wave off her concerns like they’re nothing, because they aren’t with the resources I have; “I’ll have one of my guys bring something here for you to wear. Just go hit the shower and I’ll be sure there’s a selection waiting for you when you’re done.” The dichotomy between Chelsea’s impressed and beaming face and Reagan’s look of “are you kidding me” disdain almost makes me laugh, but I compose myself; “So, that’s a yes then?”

I can see just the tell-tale signs of a smile teasing the corners of Reagan’s frown as she shakes her head at me; “Who are you, God.”

“Just ‘Hudson’ will do.”

She roll’s her eyes; “You know what I fucking mea-“

“Well right now, I’m your lunch date. So go hit the showers sweet-cheeks.”

P A S T

“So, how was Dad last night?”

Chelsea looks up from her homework and frowns at me. I’m supposed to be doing the same thing, especially since I’ve just started sending transcripts to colleges, but I’m mindlessly paging through TV channels instead. “You should have at least gotten on to say hi, Ray.”

I shrug; “It sounded like you were having a hard time hearing him anyways, wherever he is.”

“Angola.”

“What?”

“Angola; that where he is.”

I roll my eyes and sneer; “Of course he is.”

Chelsea slams her homework down and glares at me; “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means wherever there’s some third world conflict with terrible people willing to spend money of disputable origins, that’s pretty much where you can guarantee our father will be, Chelsea.”

I turn back to the TV with a huff, but my younger sister jumps out of her chair, grabs the remote out of my hand, and shuts it off; “Meaning?”

“Meaning Dad sells guns to bad people, Chelsea!” I shout at her. She flinches at the outburst but I keep going; “It means all of this” I’m gesturing around at the opulent home around us; “We have all of this because Dad is an arms dealer.”

Chelsea’s face scrunches up in a frown and it looks like she’s about to cry; “You don’t know that, Reaga-“

“I know how to put one and one together and get two, Chelsea.” She starts to snivel, and I feel the wind go out of my sails as I reach out and pull her into a hug; “Hey, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know that, Reagan!” She says again weekly as she presses her wet eyes into my shoulder.

“I know,” I say, stroking her hair; “I should have said gotten on the phone yesterday. So, how did he sound?”

“Good,” Chelsea pulls aways, her eyes red and wet looking.

“Who’s yelling in here?” Quinn pokes her head into the room and frowns when she sees Chelsea; “Reagan-“

“It’s nothing, we were just talking about Dad.”

Quinn shrugs; “Oh yeah, he’s in Angola with The Guys.” She frowns at me; “You really should find the time to talk when he calls you know, it’s not exactly easy to make phone call from there.”

I suppress the urge to growl; “So he’s with the guys in some remote corner of the globe instead of spending time here with us while you’re back on break, huh?” I roll my eyes; “Shocker.”

Quinn makes a face; “Oh, did you want to go to the sub-Saharan conflict zone, Reagan? Were you just dying to take in the scenery with a dash of extreme poverty and active war zone?”

“You know what I mean. I mean spending time with them all the time.”

My older sister frowns; “It’s work, Reagan. And besides, you know they’re all military or whatever; it’s like a brotherhood thing.”

I shrug; “Yeah but they just - I don’t know, they’re weird.”

Quinn grins; “You mean hot.”

“Um, not what I meant, but eh, I guess.”

“You guess?” Quinn is grinning at me; “Uh, news to Reagan, they’re hot. Chels? You with me here?”

Chelsea blushes and grins; “They’re super cute, Reagan.”

“They’re old!”

Quinn laughs; “Fuck you! Old? I think Hudson’s my age and Bryce is younger than that, bitch.”

“Fine, whatever.” I reach for the TV remote.

My older sister frowns again; “Did you finish your application essay for Columbia yet”

I groan dramatically; “Yes, MOM.”

She bristles, and I cringe; “Sorry.”

“Just finish that application, dummy.”

P R E S E N T

“What, no Charger?” I smirk at Hudson as his driver brings the Bentley limo around to the back-door of the gym.

He flashes that cocky grin at me as he opens the door for us; “Not today”.

“Hmm, yeah, much too flashy,” I nod with phony enthusiasm; “Good thing you’ve got the Bentley limousine as a far more inconspicuous backup.”

He shrugs; “What fun is money if you can’t spend it?”

“Oh is there money you haven’t spent? I wasn’t aware of that” I smile sweetly at him, nodding towards the sleek, ultra-luxury Bentley.

“Get in the car, Archer,” He smirks, his eyes glinting at me.

*****

Later as we’re finishing lunch on the rooftop terrace of the exclusive place he takes us, I frown as I watch him; half-listening to him as he doles out relationship advice to Chelsea. There’s a mystery to Hudson, almost as if there are two of him both sharing the same stupidly good-looking body. The one Hudson is arrogant and - wait, no, scratch that; both Hudson’s are arrogant. But while the one smug, cocky, overly-confident Hudson surrounds himself with luxury and and sarcasm and boorish behavior, there’s another one that I keep getting glimpses of, like the one sitting here talking to my sister. That Hudson is, well, utterly different. The second Hudson is fragile and partly broken; full of demons with fire in his eye. He’s the man with battle-scars and tattoos peeking out jut enough from underneath that Armani armor to make me crazy to want to know which Hudson is the real one.

Or are they both?

But then of course, I’m reminded of who he is. I’m reminded that however charming and sober and put-together this new Hudson is, this is still one of the family of men my father surrounded himself with off in some remote corner of the globe when he was avoiding us - his real family. I remind myself that however handsome his face is, and however sweet he’s being to Chelsea right now, this man has an agenda in helping finance my campaign. My father might be gone, but Hudson Banks is here, as if he’s helping my Dad exert his will over me from beyond the grave, which is a bizarre and uncomfortable thought.

Chelsea seems right as rain with him though, sitting there wrapped around Hudson’s finger. I shake my head at the sudden pang of, well, something that sure feels a whole lot like jealousy, even I know that’s impossible. But just the same, I find myself clenching my hand a little tighter around my water glass as Chelsea leans towards him, and puts her hand on his arm as she laughs at something he says. I mean it’s harmless; her mannerisms are far more sibling-like than anything flirty, but I still can’t seem to shake the possessive feeling, as if Hudson is mine somehow.

But of course, he’s not “mine”, I’m not “his”, and there’s nothing between us in that regard at all. He made that perfectly clear back before, during that summer and then at my father’s house. And then of course, I have to remember what he did - or more importantly what he didn’t do that night back then. I have to close my eyes and remember just how shitty I felt when I came downstairs and saw him walking out the door with that girl-

“Uh, Reagan?”

“Hmm?” I look up, started from my thoughts to see them both looking at me, as if waiting for an answer to a question I never heard.

Chelsea rolls her eyes at Hudson; “I told you she wasn’t listening.”

Hudson grins at me as he twirls his empty espresso cup around the saucer; “I was telling Chelsea that you can’t get weighed down with what came before. You’ve just gotta keep your head up, because you never know when something new might come next.”

I smile thinly at him, still mulling over everything I was thinking about before, but now also wondering which of the three of us that particular advice was really meant for.

P A S T

“Jesus, Hudson,” Logan is shaking his head at me in that way that makes him seem like my older brother. I don’t actually have an older brother, but if I did, I know he’d be Logan giving me this exact look.

“What?” I toss the keys to the valet who’s salivating over the sleek white McLaren idling behind me.

“Not exactly the most subtle statement is it? What part of ‘blend in’ and ‘seamless’ doesn’t click with you?”

I shrug, annoyed at Logan's tone; “I needed a car, man.” Right, that’s why you buy a million-dollar vehicle; because you ‘need a car’. But I’m New Rich - capital N, capital R - we all are, and goddamn does it feel good to fucking live a little without worrying about where the next buck is going to come from, or what piece of my soul I’m going to have to cut out in order to get it. New Rich also means, by the way, that I’m half in the bag - a factor which I’m consciously attempting to downplay to Logan since I’m supposed to be going sober these days. Of course, I’m twenty one years old, I’ve taken a bullet for my country, I want to forget the last two or three years of my life, and I’m worth three-hundred million dollars; anyone who thinks I’m not going to be drinking is fucking delusional.

“You should get one, it’ll help you calm the fuck down a little.” I can see Logan tense up, his jaw tightening and his shoulders flexing beneath his suit.

“Baaaabbe?” Oh, right, my date. I dance over to the other side of the car, to the bejeweled, shiny-manicured hand dangling out of the passenger side, and pull her out. She’s makes a face at me that I know she thinks is sexy, which is in reality kind of just stupid looking, but I push it out of the way and grin at her as I haul her out.

I look up to see Logan shaking his head again;“Seriously?”

“Logan! Manners!” I say dramatically, feeling the booze I slugged down earlier course through me as I jerk my thumb at him. I roll my eyes at my date who’s name is escaping me and who’s probably either too fucked up or too clueless to actually get the look of disdain Logan is throwing her way anyways.

“It’s a birth- no, retirement?” I frown, realizing I’ve honestly forgotten why the fuck we’re here.

“It’s a graduation party,” Logan growls through tightly-clenched teeth as he eyes me; “For the Old Man’s daughter.” He shakes his head as he peers at me; “Jesus Christ, Hud, have you been fucking drinking?”

The valet pulls my car away and as I jaunt past Logan with the bimbo on my arm, I pat him on condescending on the shoulder; “Try and have a little fun, dude. We’re fuckin rich now.” I somehow walk away without him breaking one of my arms, and we stumble our way through the front doors of the Old Man’s castle-like estate.

A hand shoots out and grabs my arm hard, and I whirl around, fire in my eyes.

“Easy, Marine.” It’s William, and I’m instantly feeling like shit because I know I’m not supposed to be drinking, and I also know that he can see right through me and knows I have been. His eyes narrow at me, and I can see that he’s not mad per-say, he’s just disappointed.

Jesus, why is it always ten thousand times worse when he people you want to look good for are disappointed instead of just plain angry at you.

“Are you in control?”

No. Yes. Maybe? Grab me a beer and I’ll let you know? I of course don’t say any of those things and just nod like an asshole instead. I’m not trashed or anything, but this man has risked so much and given me a life straight out of a fucking movie script; all on the foundation that I clean up and keep my shit together, and I’m blowing that.

“I’m good, sir.”

He nods slowly; “Good, I know Reagan is excited to meet you.”

P R E S E N T

I awake from the memory momentarily confused by the ceiling that stares blankly back at me until I remember that I’m in the guest bedroom at Reagan’s apartment.

Technically, it was her mother’s place that she kept in the city to get away from it all, Reagan told me last night when we got in. But since she graduated, it’s apparently became Reagan’s de facto home. It might not be a mansion up in Greenwich, but it’s hardly slumming it either. It’s light in here, and airy, and even though we’re in Manhattan, the sounds of the city seem more of a background lull than the typical white noise grating on your ears. There’s a homey warmth to it that I realize quite starkly is something I’ve never known; not in the desert during our deployment, not in hiding after that, and certainly not in my shattered life before. Even with the money I have now, my penthouse is stark and modern and cold; the opposite of this place.

This place has love.

I wince as I roll out of bed, feeling the dull pain in my shoulder and partially regretting my workout last night. Reagan’s building has a pretty lame little gym in the basement, but when I realized there was a boxer’s bag there, I hit it hard last night when we got back. I wince again recalling that I fell asleep without showering last night; a problem that needs fixing right now.

I groan, thinking about how I’d tried to shower the night before, only to realize when I’d walked down the hallway that the door was shut and the water was on. The dawning realization that only a thin piece of wood and possibly a shower curtain stood between me and a naked Reagan had gotten me so fucking hard that I’d felt my pulse roar in my ears like a fucking jet engine. The mental image of her, the hot water cascading down her perfect body, the steam rising around her, her hands lathering her skin with soap had me gripping the doorframe with an iron grip, wanting nothing more than to break down that door, crush her body to mine and take her right there in the damn shower.

Obviously, my restraint is to be applauded, as I’d instead gone back to my guest room with a raging case of blue balls and a nonstop fantasy of Reagan wearing nothing but some soap bubbles dancing through my head as I’d fallen fitfully asleep.

I’m still thinking about it, and I’m rock hard with my cock straining at my boxer-briefs as I poke my head out of the door and look around. Reagan might be what most people call an early riser, but I’m a Marine; “early” is a subjective term.

I’m used to the five-nozzle automatic steam shower I’ve had installed at my penthouse these days, but there’s an old world nostalgia that hits me when I manually crank on the water in Reagan’s clawfoot tub. The loofa that played a very soapy and very x-rated roll in my dreams of her last night is hanging there on a hook by the shower-head, and a surge of lust hits me again as the scent of her soap and her shampoo hit me. I think of her standing in this very tub last night, her skin pink and wet, her breasts rising and falling as she breathes in the steam, and the water running over her stomach and her hips to trickle down between her legs.

Jesus, get a fucking grip, man.

I’m so hard thinking about Reagan that I’m practically about to rip through my briefs, so I shuck them down my thighs, annd that’s when the door barges open.

She’s clearly just stumbled out of bed, and it’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. She’s wearing these thin little white panties that are clinging tightly to every curve of her hips and every crease between her thighs, and this sheer lacy nighty thing that I can see right fucking through.

“I, oh-!” She trips over whatever she’s about to say as I whirl around, and then she’s just staring at my cock. Her mouth is open in this sexy as fuck way, and I can feel my dick actually jump as her tongue barely slides out to briefly wet her lip and then it just feels like time stops. We’re frozen in this moment, barely three feet away from each other and yet neither of us moving or saying a damn thing. And there is so much I want to say that I almost can’t think, but at the same time, I don’t want anything in the world to shatter this moment.

We stand there in silence for the longest three full seconds in the world before she starts to slowly back away. She’s not leaving, she just backs up against the door frame, her eyes stuck on my erection.

“Hudson-“ She breathes, her eyes wide and blinking quickly and her chest rising and falling with her breathing. Something about her saying my name like that breaks me from the freeze, and I’m moving towards her before I know what the fuck I’m doing. But dammit if she’s going to move, or leave, than she better fucking do it now before I crush those pouty, sexy fucking lips with mine and take her right here in the bathroom.

I’m right in front of her, my pulse raging in my ears, her eyes still haven’t left my dick. Slowly, she draws them up, slowly shaking her head but her cheeks are bright red and her breath is coming in these cute little gasps; “You’re-“

She swallows heavily and licks her lips again, and all I can think about is watching those lips wrap around my shaft.

“Say it,” I growl out, my eyes flashing as I hold her trembling gaze with my own; “Say the word.” I want to tear those panties from her body and sink my cock into her right here against the bathroom wall, but I need her to tell me she wants me first. I’m already feeling like I’m breaking every vow and all the trust in the world with William and Logan and Bryce, and she has to make the first move or this is nothing, as much as I know we both want this right now.

“We- we can’t-“

I grab her wrist and push them back tight against the doorframe behind her. She whimpers and shivers, and this tiny moan falls from her lips, and God help me I’m going to take her right here in about three seconds.

She arches her hips forward in just the smallest of movements, and my cock just grazes against the bare skin of her hip and she shivers; “Hudson-“

“Say the word Reagan.” I growl, leaning down until I’m practically breathing the words against her lips. It’s taking everything I have not to shove my tongue into her mouth and fuck her right up against the wall; “Say the fucking word and I’ll-”

“No!” She gasps, the spell suddenly broken as she pushes me back. My stomach drops as she’s whirling around and bolting out the bathroom door, leaving me standing here with heart in my throat and my cock rock hard.

Day one of watching Reagan Archer; I am not going to survive this campaign.

P A S T

I’m fussing with the the hemline of the white dress again, even though Quinn and my friend Cassy have already told me a thousand times that it looks great on me. The problem is, the dress does look good, I’m just not sure it’s really me, you know?

“Seriously, stop playing with it, you look hot.” Quinn is every inch the world-weary college girl home on break; twenty-one going on forty and totally jaded about, like, you know, everything.

I make a face at her; “I’m not trying to look hot, Quinn, it’s a family graduation party.” A family event, I might add, that our Dad is actually around for.

“Well, too bad, cause you look hot. That dress makes your tits look great, by the way.”

“Quinn!”

“Oh stop being a prude.” She sticks her tongue out at me before she stops and seems to look past me, and her brow arches and a little grin creeps across her face; “Well hello.” She slides her sunglasses down her nose an inch or so; “Don’t look now, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one that thinks you look hot in that dress.”

“Huh?”

“No, Reagan-” She hisses as I start to turn; “I said don’t look now!” But I’m ignoring my older sister as I turn around, and suddenly lock eyes with possibly the most attractive looking man I’ve ever seen. His piercing blue eyes flash at me, boring into me so much that I feel a warm flutter hit me even from 100 feet away across the gardens. He says something to the other suited guy he’s talking to, and suddenly he’s walking over to where we’re standing,  his eyes never really leaving me as he strides towards me.

“Um, what do I do?” He’s definitely walking towards us, and I definitely have no idea what to say to a man that looks like that.

Quinn laughs; “Ugh, you talk to him, psycho?” She sees me biting my cuticle and pulls my hand away from my mouth; “Yeah, don’t do that. Just, be normal and be yourself, ok?”

Yeah but myself is an awkward, gawky bookworm, despite the sexy dress my sister picked out for me.

“You know you are going to have to talk to guys at some point when you go to college, Ray,” she says grinning as she winks at me and starts to walk away.

“Wait! Where are you going!” I hiss at her.

She sticks her tongue out at me; “Go get get ‘im, tiger.”

I’m opening my mouth to yell something at her back about deserting me when I hear his voice for the first time; “Congratulations, Reagan.”

The voice is like honey and leather; smooth and smokey and yet older-sounding than the man who looks barely much older than I am standing in front of me.

“Uh, hi.” I say, feeling flushed as I turn to him.

Smooth; very smooth.

Up close, I can see the tiniest glimpses of tattoo ink peeking out above his shirt collar or at the sleeves of his Armani suit, hinting at something much less polished beneath. A $5,000 suit and visible tattoos? Color me curious. Up close like this, I can see the thin white scar on his chin, and combined with that crazy charming smile and those hints of bad boy ink, I realize that more than just being the most attractive looking man I’ve ever met, he also might just be the most dangerous.

I can feel my blush spreading up my cheeks as the thought hits me; the kind of blush that I hate because it makes my cheeks pink, which looks weird and not in a cute way if you’ve got red hair like mine. He’s grinning at me though with that totally charming and utterly disarming smile, and those piercing blue eyes are flashing and its like I’m under some kind of spell.

…You know, the kind of spell where I apparently can’t say anything without sounding like a total weirdo; “So, how do you- I mean, how did you get-“

Wow, was I really about to ask ‘how did you get invited?’ I shake my head; “Uh, sorry. I guess I meant to ask your name, not, you know, accuse you of party crashing or something.”

He laughs, and the sound is like warm silk and smoke, which makes something tingle inside of me; “Oh, yeah sorry, I never even got to that part.”

God that smile is freaking criminal it’s so attractive, it’s like I just want to-

“Hudson,” My heart skips a beat; “Hudson Banks.”

Shit. And just like that, I’m over it.

“I work with- “

“You work with my Dad.” I say evenly. Ok, spark gone; mystery butterflies dead.

Hudson freaking Banks. I can’t believe I haven’t recognized him from the corporate gala event Dad threw a year or so back. Of course, back then I was too busy hating our Dad for dragging us to his stupid event and too busy sulking in the corner with a book to bother being introduced to anyone. Anyone like Hudson Banks; one of “The Guys” my father is always palling around with in whatever conflict zone he’s in this week. The charm suddenly looks more like smugness to me; the cool confidence now arrogance as I realize that this is one of the people it seems my father would rather spend time with than his own family at his own home.

Hudson frowns a little, seeing the way my smile falls from my face, and he opens his perfect mouth to say something when suddenly something blonde and loud crashes into him; “Heeey baaabe.”

I can see him wince, and see his jaw tense up, and I almost have to grin at his discomfort. I mean I thought my dress was a little too flirty for the occasion, but this girl looks like she might be a stripper.

“Hiii, I’m Chastity.” She says, sticking out a hand covered in tacky looking jewelry with big fake nails.

Ok, I take it back, this girl is definitely a stripper. I can’t even help but let the grin spread across my cheeks as I see the frown deepen on his. Whatever charm he was trying to work on me - and I refuse to admit that it was; working, that is - is now being totally shattered by this bimbo, and that thought is extremely amusing to me in that moment.

Hudson clears his throat; “So, uh, you’re going to be in New York for college in the fall I hear?”

I’m momentarily confused how he knows that, but I nod; “Yeah, Columbia. It was that or Cornell, but I really liked the idea of being in the city-“

“Oh my God.” Hudson’s stripper-date has her mouth wide open, her eyes glazed as she shakes her head at me; “I totally gave up corn too. It has so many carbs it’s like crazy, am I right?”

Wow.

I can see Hudson’s eyes flash as he cringes, and it only makes me grin even more and nod enthusiastically at her; “That’s, uh, yeah that’s terrific. Good for you-”

“Chastity.” She says with a smile, holding out her hand as if we didn’t just do this thirty seconds before; “Like the virtue.”

I almost lose it completely; you just can’t make this stuff up, folks.

Hudson clears his throat again, as if trying to clear how awkward an encounter this is; “Well, I’m in the city too you know, and I’d be happy to show you around sometime.”

Oh, yeah, definitely, I think to myself; maybe we could go watch Chastity’s pole routine or something.

What are you, jealous? I frown, quickly burying the voice in my head and the totally ludicrous notion that I could possibly feel jealousy involving a guy I’ve just met, who I already sort of hate just on principle.

“Babe, I’m gonna go powder my nose, ok?” Chastity makes an exaggerated pantomime that even I get as a cocaine reference despite having never done drugs, before she giggles; “Oh, can I get my phone?”

Hudson grits his teeth, clearly totally uncomfortable with this whole scenario as he slips his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out her cellphone. It’s when the two little nip bottles of scotch fall out and hit the grass under our feet that his face falls, he groans; “That’s, uh, that’s not what it-“ He looks up at me, his gorgeous blue eyes darting around my face as if they’re searching for something, and for the briefest of moments, I want to be that something.

But this is Hudson Banks for crying out loud. Despite that charm and those eyes and that cocky, winning smile, this is the very last man on Earth I need to be anything for or with.

“It was nice to meet you Hudson.” I say with a thin smile. He opens his mouth again, but I’m already walking quickly away, trying to convince myself not to turn around.

P R E S E N T

My heart is pounding as I slam the door shut to my room. I’m pacing the floor, the blood roaring in my ears and hot across my face as I bring one of my fingers to my lips and chew at the cuticle; a habit I’ve been trying to kick since I was a kid. Shit; I just walked in on Hudson totally naked with those absolutely insane abs, those grooved muscles of his hips and that holy-fucking-shit HUGE cock. I can feel the blush bloom hotter through my face as I think of that particular part of him again; the part that had me staring and frozen like I was under a spell of some kind. It’s the part of him that has me wetter than I’ve ever been as the mental image of it sears itself into my brain.

I’m used to living alone, but I can’t believe I just barged in through a closed bathroom door. And I stayed! Why on earth hadn’t I just turned on my heal and bolted as soon s I’d seen him, instead of staring at him and his- his cock like I was some sort of sex-starved, tongue-tied weirdo! And what was I thinking letting him get that close to me, so close that I actually felt him against my thigh like that.

‘Say the word, Reagan’

My breath comes shaking as the desire floods through me, and I stop pacing to lean my forehead against the door. I have no idea where I possibly found the ability to say no, and as I feel my pulse throbbing in my ears and between my legs, I almost wish I could go back in time and try a different answer.

“Reagan.”

The knock at my door makes me jump, makes my heart leap into my throat; “Go away, Hudson.” I croak out. It takes every ounce of my control to keep my voice level and not betray the quaver I’m trying so hard to contain; “And learn to lock the damn door!”

I can hear him growl in the hallway; “Will you just open this one and we can ta-“

“There’s nothing to talk about.” My eyes are clenched tightly, my fingers digging into my palms as I chew at my lip, not sure if I want to will him to walk away or break the door down and take me right here and now. I can hear him swear under his breath on the other side of the door and then I jump at the sound of a palm slamming flat against the doorframe.

“Damnit, Reagan, open-“

“There’s nothing to talk about, Hudson.” I saw quietly; “Just lock the door next time.”

Please don’t ask me to open this door again or I know I will, I think, chewing at my lip with my eyes closed tight. I’m so close to the edge that I know if he asks me again there’s no way I’ll be able to say no. I clench my eyes closed even tighter, feeling my body shiver with desire and feeling the heat pulsing between my legs. Please, ask me-

The door to the guest room slamming shut down the hallway makes me jump, and I let my breath out suddenly, realizing I’ve been holding it. I count to three, and then ten, and then fifty before I open my door. I poke my head out to see that the hallways is clear, before I slip out and pad barefoot to the bathroom.

It’s still steamy in here from him, though I guess he never got a chance to take a shower before I barged in. There’s a bottle of aftershave lying on the sink next to a razor, and before I can stop myself, I’m holding the bottle to my nose and smelling his scent; letting it fill my senses as the steam of the room swirls around me. His aftershave hasn’t changed, and the smell instantly has me back there, back where we came so close. His hands are on me again, pushing me against the stone behind us as he kisses me; his hardness pressing hotly against my thigh through his pants.

I blush crimson, knowing that as of seven minutes ago, I know exactly what that hardness looks like.

I shake my head to clear it as I reach to turn on the water, trying to shake him out of my thoughts. The aftershave hasn’t changed, and as much as I want to think the man who wears it has with this whole new sober, healthy, helpful and positive Hudson, I know it’s just a new facade. People don’t change, not like that.

But when I step under the hot spray of the water, he’s still in my head; all of him. And as much as I want him gone from my thoughts, as the water teases electrically over my skin, the vivid image of his rock-hard body and his big cock standing a foot away from where I stand now invade every corner of my brain. I’m wet; far wetter than I’d be just from standing under a shower head, and before I can stop it, I’m pushing my hands down over my hips and over my stomach, and sliding them lower. My fingers roll over my aching clit, making me gasp quietly as I lean my forehead against the tile wall. A moan as soft as the steam rising around me escapes my lips as I rub myself there, picturing Hudson standing hot and ripped and naked right in front of me, so close that I can feel the heat from his body, and then closer still as I feel the throbbing heat of his erection press against my thigh. I picture myself letting him go further then, instead of pushing him away like I did. His mouth is on mine, sliding down to suck one of my nipples into his mouth before he slides lower still until he’s sliding his tongue deep into my wetness as I buck against his mouth. I moan again, louder this time as I slide a finger over my entrance and push it inside. I’m squeezing my eyes shut tight, already feeling myself start to tumble as I rock my hips to grind my clit against the palm of my hand as I picture Hudson wrapping my legs around his muscled waist and sliding that big, hard-

The bathroom door slams open; “Is my toothbrush-“

“Hudson!” But its not a cry of anger or shock, or even surprise; its me crying out his name as I come. And gasping out his name as my body begins to shatter pushes me tumbling over that sweet edge as my climax explodes through me.

“I- uh-“ His voice is choked, and as I look up through the semi-frosted clear shower curtain, I see him staring at me as he backs out of the room; “Sorry.”

The door shuts, and I slump against the wall, feeling like I want to turn to liquid and let the water pelting down on top of me carry me right down the drain along with it.

It’s a frosted shower curtain, so- no, there’s no way-

The water and the steam swirl around me as I slide to my knees in the tub and curl my legs up to my chin as I rock myself. He couldn’t have; God he couldn't have.

P A S T

“Here, drink up.” Rob from accounting slides me a glass of amber liquid, and I wonder for the ninth time why the fuck I came out to a damn club tonight. To blend in, I guess? To go out with some of the “guys from the office” and be a normal person maybe? In any case, this is going from a stupid to a terrible idea really fast as I find myself staring at the glass in front of me with the hunger of a man who hasn’t eaten in a year. Some people keep a medallion of some kind around like some sort of stupid talisman or lucky charm that they can attach themselves to when they start to feel weak about relapsing.

I carry the bullet they pulled out of my shoulder in my pocket.

I smile at Rob and Hiro, and some guy who’s name I’m pretty sure is Mike; “Naw, I’m good, thanks though man.”

Hiro frowns at me; “You did see the year on that bottle this shit came out of right?”

I force out a laugh; “Yeah, looks like good stuff.” It looks like mana from the Gods and I want to guzzle the whole fucking bottle, but I can’t do that you fucking pricks.

Rob looks at me quizzically; “Wait, are you really not gonna drink it? Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Thanks though.”

“Dude, just have a fuckin drink.” Probably-Mike says, sipping on the scotch in his hand.

“I said fucking no, ok?” I clench my fists, feeling the rage hit me harder than I was thinking it would. I need some new fucking friends.

They all give me strange looks and I shake my head; “Sorry, I’ve just got a long day tomorrow at work.”

That seems to be the magic word as Rob nods empathetically; “Old Man Archer got you working on the West Side Highway project huh?”

No, actually I’m just distracted by the fact that I can’t get Old Man Archer’s DAUGHTER out of my fucking head for even a second.  “Mhmm, yeah, its a doozy.”

Theres a tap on my shoulder, and I turn to see 120 pounds of sex just staring at me with dark brown eyes and a hot pink dress; “Hey, you wanna dance?”

She’s hot, she’s dressed up, she’s smiling at me like that and batting those eyes; why not? Hey, a man’s gotta have some vices, and it’s not drinking, right?

“Uh, sure.”

And then we’re out in the heat and the sweat of the throngs of peoples dancing and moving to the thumping bass on the dance floor, and I’m just not feeling it. She’s all over me, her hands on my biceps as she tries to grind on me, and instead of getting turned on its just putting me off in a major way.

“Look, just stop.”

She looks at me like doesn’t hear what I said and leans in to try and kiss me. I push her back and hold her there with my hands on her arms; “I said stop.”

She pouts; “Awww, you’re no fun.”

“Ok.” I turn and start to push my way through the crowd when she grabs my hand; “Hey, lets just get out of here instead. I’ve got plenty to drink at my place.”

Ok, this girl is seriously asking me to come home with her, I’m seriously about to say no, and I’m starting to wonder if there is seriously something wrong with me; “No, thanks.”

She looks at me like I’m totally nuts, which I can’t exactly disagree with her on at that particular junction; “Well fuck you then, prick.”

Yeah, fuck me, right?

The guys I came with are out trying to score on the dance floor, so I just pay their tab as a goodbye before I just leave. Out on the street, I breathe, fingering the metal slug in my pocket and feeling the sharp tug of the addiction demons grabbing at my fucking throat. Me, Hudson Banks, turning down no-strings sex with a hot girl; something is definitely throwing the world and reality as we know it out of whack. I take out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I see her name. This is why the world is off it’s axis, I think as I stare at Reagan Archer’s number.

Fuck, this is a bad idea.

P R E S E N T

It’s hours later, and I’m still rock hard. All I can think about - the only possible real thought going through my head at all actually - is the memory of her calling my name like that; Jesus. I mean I couldn't totally see through the curtain, but I could enough that I can assume what she was doing, and assuming is enough to have me going out of my mind right now. It’s not just the way she said my name like that either, its knowing what she was doing, naked with that hot water steaming over her perfect skin, trickling over her hot body when she did say it. It’s knowing that she was uttering my name when she came, and that thought has kept me hard for hours since.

I tried fixing the situation myself; by hand, if you will. I tried wrapping my hand around my throbbing hard cock and stroking it as I imagined Reagan’s perfect pouty lips wrapping around my dick. I tried to imagine that insane body of hers sliding down onto me, my cock sliding hotly through her wetness as she came for me - on me - calling my name. But it wasn't the same, not by a damn mile, and I just couldn't do it with being pissed at it not being the real thing.

The apartment, completely unsurprisingly, has been silent since; like, pin-drop quiet. And I’m willing to bet she’d down the hall doing the exact same thing I am - sitting on a bed staring at a wall trying to get thoughts together enough to think about what the hell we do now. What we had before? Yeah, they call that sexual tension. Now? I don’t they have a name for whatever the fuck falls between sexual tension and fucking, but Goddamn if it isn’t so damn tense that I feel like I’m about to snap.

I’m on my feet in a second; I can’t just stay in this tiny fucking guest room anymore. Her door is still closed when I go to the living room an turn on some mindless movie, thought I think I hear the quietest intake of breath in the world as I walk past her door.

I want to leave, well, sort of. I want to give her space is more accurate. I don’t want to leave at all, but something tell’s my Reagan will stay in her room indefinitely until I do. I whip out my phone and text my office to get two of my guys to come watch the place tonight so I can get the fuck out of here; so I can clear the air of whatever just happened back there.

“Sorry for walking in on you.”

Her voice makes me jump, and I’m amazed at how I never heard her coming; “Reagan-”

“I’m sorry for walking in on you.” She repeats herself, her voice level and quit, her face neural, as if she never said it the first time at all.

“I- I’m sorry too, for, walking in on-”

For walking in on you with your fingers buried in that sweet pussy that I’d love to cover with my mouth and lick until you couldn’t see straight is what I want to say. I don’t obviously, but it doesn’t stop me from congratulating myself on being such a smooth talker.

“It’s fine,” She cuts off my thoughts; “Look, if we’re going to- I mean if you’re going to be around-“ She sighs, her hand coming up as she runs her fingers through her long hair; “That time before- you know, at my Da-“

“This is my job, Reagan, I’m not going to get tripped up by-“

“No, look, I’m just saying before was nothing, right?”

I feel a tight clench somewhere deep inside my chest. ‘Before’, meaning ‘that kiss’. That kiss; the only kiss that’s ever mattered, anywhere. And yet I hear myself talking, and saying the opposite of everything I want to tell her; “Uh, yeah I guess so.”

Fuck!

“Good,” She breathes out, an expression that looks a lot like relief moving over her face; “OK, good.”

Yeah, fucking awesome.

“So before was nothing, right? I mean, I was drunk, you might've been drunk, I was grieving-“ I start to open my mouth, but she cuts me off again. “No no, its not like you were taking advantage or anything, Hudson, I’m just saying it was nothing, OK?”

I’m not sure who she’s trying to convince harder here, me or her, but it fucking sucks either way.

“We were horny and sad and drunk and just made- well, almost made a terrible mistake.”

I’m nodding at her words, even though every single fiber of my being is raging otherwise inside.

“I- I just wanted to get that out so we can be in the same place together without biting each others heads off or there being this sort of-“

“Sexual tension?”

She blushes as I say the word, and it’s so cute and so fucking predicable that I’m grinning at her.

“I- I just wanted to say that now, before anything else popped up.”

“Well I’ve only got the one, you know.”

Her face goes bright red, and I can’t help but grin even wider

“So, there’s nothing more to talk about then, right? No sexual tension or anything like that? We’re just doing our jobs and just working together without anything like that lingering?”

“Sure.” I say thinly; “Listen, Reagan, I’m out of your hair tonight anyways, so you can relax.”

“Oh, you are?” She looks quickly up at me, her expression hard to read.

“Yeah, I’ve got two guys coming over to watch you instead.”

“Wait, two strangers?” Her voice quavers for a second, her eyes looking nervous.

“They’re good guys, Reagan. I think they’ll watch you better than I c-“

“Hudson  I don’t want two strangers.”

I sigh in exasperation; “Well what the hell do you want, Red? Because you don’t want these guys watching you, and it sure as shit seems like you don’t want me around-“

“I do want you-“ She winces and shakes her as that adorable flush creeps up her cheeks; “I mean, I want you to stay and be the one watching me, if someone has to be doing it.”

I stare at her with a puzzled look, trying to read her face.

“Please?” Her voice is shy, naked in it’s honesty, and I find myself nodding as I open my phone to call off the two guards.

Jesus, this girl is going to be the end of me.

“Fine.”

P A S T

The buzzing beneath my pillow shakes me awake, and I frown as I feel sleep begin to slide away from me. I’m grumbling to myself as I pull out the offending cellphone I must have fallen asleep with, blinking at its glaringly bright screen. The number isn’t familiar, but I do recognize the time that says its 3:45 in the morning, and with a muttered swear, I reject the call and shove the phone back under my head.

The buzzing starts again just as I start to drift off. “Ugh, what?” I groan out loud, grinding my teeth as I see the same unknown number illuminating my screen and wrecking my sleep a second time. I’m tempted to answer just to tell them where they can stick it, but instead I just turn my phone off entirely. I’m yanking the covers up around me and burrowing deeper into my sleep when I hear the knock at my dorm-room door.

What the actual fuck.

“What?!” I know the disheveled, skate-punk-looking kid standing outside my door, but only through feint recognition as someone who lives on my floor on the other side of the dorm. “Can I help you?”

“Theres, uh, someone here to see you.” He takes a sip from the atypical college red plastic solo cup in his hand.

I furrow my brow at him; “Excuse me?”

“Outside; there’s some dude who wants to see you.”

“Who?”

He shrugs. He looks high, or drunk; “I dunno, some guy just gave me a hundred bucks to come knock on your door and tell you to answer your phone.” He frowns and taps a finger to his forehead which would be comical if I hadn’t just been woken up at four in the morning.

“Wait, no, that’s not it, he said to say ‘Answer your damn phone, Archer.’”

I almost smirk; Hudson.

*****

“A hundred dollars, huh? Just to get me outside?”

Hudson is leaning against the side of a bright red Porsche convertible, his white oxford shirt unbuttoned at the neck and his sleeves rolled up, uncharacteristically showing off his tattoos. He grins and shrugs; “Eh, its the only cash I had in my wallet. Answer your damn phone next time.”

“What do you want, Hudson.” Ok so part of me is thrilled that he’s shown up here like this at four in the morning like something out of a John Hughes movie; especially looking like that with his hair pushed back and that cocky grin and those tattoos peeking out down his forearms. The other part of me though - the sensible part of me - is wary of this for those exact reasons.

“I want to show you something, get in.”

I raise my eyebrows skeptically; “Have you been drinking or something?”

“What? No, I don-“ He frowns and shakes his head; “No, Reagan, I haven’t.”

I cock my head towards the red convertible; “What happened to the white one?”

“I got bored. Look, just get in ok?”

“Hudson, it’s four o’clock in the morning,” I’ve been at college for all of a month, and the work is already seriously piling up. I roll my eyes at him; “I need to sleep.”

“No, what you need to do is get in the car.”

He’s so insistent and so earnest about it that something wants me to say yes when I know I shouldn’t, and suddenly, I’m caving.

“Let me just go change my-“

“Nah, PJ’s are fine.” He winks at me; “Comon Archer, quit being a diva and get in the car.”

*****

Hudson, predictably, drives like an insane person, and we’re roaring over the George Washington bridge in less time than I thought was physically possible. He whips us around a van and veers off onto the Palisades Parkway, and then we’re tearing away from the city and up the west bank of the Hudson River. We aren’t talking, but the stereo is playing an old Grateful Dead record, and I almost grin at how not expected this choice of music is for the Armani-suited wild man Hudson.

He smirks as if reading my mind; “I’m a man of odd taste, Ms. Archer.”

“What, like drunk bimbos and sports cars?” I smirk, unable to help but get that cheap shot in; “Yeah, so outside the lines for rich young finance guys in New York.”

“I was going to say like night drives and girls in pajamas, actually.”

I feel myself blushing as I turn and look out the window at the inky black of the river we’re following. I don’t know what this is that we’re doing out here, but I’m suddenly very curious to see where it goes.

Hudson swerves off the main parkway, and then we’re speeding up; up a twisting, winding, and wooded road. The elevation climbs, and Hudson drives faster and higher, taking bend after bend with screeching tires until I’m holding onto the edges of my seat with white knuckles and gasping as the trees rush past us.

And then suddenly, the darkness of the trees gives way, the sky opens up, and and we’re squealing to a stop. I can still feel my heart hammering from the drive, but I gasp as I look around the parking lot lookout where we’ve stopped. I can see the lights of the whole city from here, down along the black ribbon of the Hudson River, and its incredible.

“I just thought you’d want to see the whole Hudson.” He says quietly from the seat next to me.

I turn and see that he’s staring out at the view himself, and I grin; “Please tell me that’s a pickup line you’ve used before.”

He laughs, his whole face breaking into a wide smile; “Not on a first date, Ray.”

“Oh, is this a first date?” I smirk.

“Is it?” He shrugs; “First date and I already get to see what you sleep in; not bad I’d sa-“

I smack him on the arm with a laugh and he turns to grin at me; “No, Ray, its not a line; just something I wanted to show you.”

We both turn back to the view for another minute of silence. I open my mouth to ask it but then stop myself, before changing my mind again; “You show this to a lot of girls?”

A song ends on the album, and in the absolute silence of the car, he turns to me, his sharp eyes glinting in the light from the dash; “None, actually.”

The music starts up again as we both sit back in our seats and just stare off into the predawn as civil twilight crests over the city; and its wonderful.

P R E S E N T

OK, so being around Hudson is hard. Ugh, I need to get my mind out of the gutter; it’s difficult I should say, being around him. Mostly because the only thing I can think about at all is that cock of his I saw when I stumbled into the bathroom. I mean, it’s not enough that he’s rich, cocky, muscled and criminally attractive; the guy has to have an big dick too?

I mean honestly, it’s distracting.

He of course seems to have have totally moved on from seeing, well, whatever it is he thinks he saw. Although at this point, I’m fairly sure he knows exactly what he saw; and heard. I cringe a little, thinking about gasping his name out as my orgasm ripped through me, and then seeing him just standing there, staring at me. Whats worse is that I can’t I get my damned mind off of that image of him standing there totally naked and completely hard. And why can’t I help but wonder what or who he was thinking about that got him that way?

His back is to me, as he reads through business emails of some kind on his phone in my living room, and I find myself chewing at my lip nervously, my mind a whirlwind. I mean, would it really be so bad?

YES! The voice in my head screams, shaking me from my idle day-dreaming and making me realize with a  blush that I’ve been staring at Hudson’s back for the past five full minutes. YES, it would be bad like ruination of public image bad. I mean sleeping with the guy in charge of donating campaign funds? It’s not illegal or anything, but they’d fucking crucify me for that in the papers. I can almost see the headlines now, something like “Silly Little Rich Girl Predictably Bangs the Guy With Money; Bows Out of Campaign”.

No, fuck that. What I need is to get images and thoughts of me banging Hudson out of my head, now. Of course, the pathetic amount of time it’s been since I’ve been involved in banging of any kind makes me groan, and I know that’s part of the problem. I mean there was Chet - yes, Chet, like something out of a fucking Archie comic - but that was over six months ago, and even then it was barely a thing. It was barely a thing so much that when I heard the whispers about him fucking his intern like a walking cliche, I remember feeling more sorry for whatever college poli-sci major had to lay there and fake it now that I wasn’t doing it than I did for myself. Erika, my “brand manager” (God I hate that title), of course want’s me to get back together with him, and is always talking about how much of a “complimentary companion” he is for a “power-woman” like myself.

Yeah, because “complimentary companion” has “sexy” written all over it. And again my mind instead thinks of the hard-bodied, cocky Hudson. Hudson with the tattoos and the obnoxious bad-boy chip on his shoulder; Hudson with the dangerous glint in his eye and the fucking missile hanging between his legs. I’m pretty sure it would give Erika an aneurism if I announced that he was going to be my new “companion” of any kind.

I’m still mulling all of this over in my head when Chelsea comes over later with takeout sushi.

“So what do you think, Hudson?”

I grumble into my yellowtail maki. I don’t know if I’m pissy because she’s decided to include him in what was going to be a sister get-together, or that she’s somehow getting along with him swimmingly. Or maybe I’m just generally feeling on edge because of the Hudson situation as a whole.

“Your ex sounds like a dick, Chelsea,” He’s saying as he takes a bite of salmon. He sees me staring at him and grins as he makes an extra big show of sensually slurping the piece of fish between his lips while Chelsea is looking down at her own food. I make a face at him, which only gets him grinning more and more my own pulse beating faster.

“Aw, thanks Hudson!” I’m still making my stink face at him when Chelsea looks up sees me, before she turns and nods her head at Hudson; “You know, you can always come hang with me if my sisters being a bitch, Hudson.”

He chuckles right along with her as I stuff seaweed salad into my mouth and look away. It’s not flirty between them - she’s acting like more of a kid sister and him more like a conspiratorial brother than anything like that - but it’s still getting under my skin. It’s as if their closeness brings out some sort of bizarre jealousy in me, which is stupid because I don’t want or need to be close to Hudson.

Keep saying that to yourself and maybe you’ll start to believe it.

I’m interrupted from battling my inner dialogue by Chelsea poking me in the arm with a chopstick; “We should ask his opinion on your ex, Ray.”

I blush as Hudson arches an eyebrow at me, a grin teasing his perfect lips; “Ex-boyfriend, huh?” Yeah, I definitely haven’t mentioned Chet to Hudson.

“Let’s…not?” Im staring daggers at my sister, but she’s either not getting the hint or just ignoring them anyways.

“Oh comon! I bet Hudson has a ton to say about you and Chet.”

I groan inside as Hudson grins wickedly at me; “Chet?” His cocky, smug mouth cracks even even wider as winks at me; “Oh, yeah, I think I’ve got loads to say about ‘Chet’.”

“See?” Chelsea gives me a sassy look as she reaches past me for the ginger.

“I’m sure you do.” I say icily.

*****

“So, Chet, huh?”

We’re cleaning up the kitchen after Chelsea leaves; Hudson rinsing out wine glasses and me drying them. It’s weirdly domestic, and probably the last thing I could ever imagine spending my Wednesday night doing with billionaire playboy Hudson Banks.

“Chet is none of your business, actually,” I say, almost unable to hide my smirk. Is he jealous?

“I’m just curious thats all,” Hudson passes me a clean, dripping wet coffee cup.

“Oh what, for security purposes?” I say sarcastically as I reach for the mug.

“No I’m just curious for me actually.” I freeze with my hand on the lip of the coffee cup he’s holding in his hand, suddenly very curious where he’s going to go with this.

Hudson grins, as if seeing right through the casual face I’m doing my best to maintain and seeing the eagerness within; “I’m honestly just wondering who could put up with you long enough to date, that’s all.”

I roll my eyes, suddenly angry with myself for being such a weirdo about all of this; “Oh shut up.”

Hudson laughs; “Oh I’m just kidding Red, jeez lighten up.” He casually reaches over and wraps his arm around my waist, and I freeze.

“Stop.”

“What?”

I can feel the strength in his arms, and the heat in his fingers as they circle around my waist, drawing me closer to his body and I can feel the shiver run up my spine.

“Just- don’t touch me like that.” I’m saying no because I need him to, not because I want him to. In fact, I desperately want him to keep touching me.

Hudson frowns; “Jesus, Reagan, like what?” He drops his arm and steps back from me, and I’m instantly missing the heat of his body and the heat my body feels when he’s that close to me; “Ok, fine.”

I swallow heavily; “Fine.” I know my cheeks are bright red, and the heated, needy desire pouring through my body and dampening my panties scream that I want anything but him to stop touching me, but I force myself to turn away from him.

I gasp when he reaches out and grabs my arm, and my heart leaps into my throat as I feel him spin me around and press me up against the refrigerator. I’m flush against his body, feeling every ripple of his muscles, every inch of his skin on mine, and I let out the tiniest of moans in spite of myself. I can feel his hardness pressing hotly against me as his hands push my arms back against the cool metal of the fridge, and he leans down until I can feel his breath teasing across my lips.

“Just so you know, I’m betting I could have you right here, right now, Princess. I’d only have to ask.”

“Oh is that a fact, huh?” I give him my most defiant, carefree look, but I know by the way he grins that he can see right through that. And I know by the way my face is flushed and the way I know he can feel the heat between my legs on his thigh that neither of us are fooled by my little act.

“Yeah, that’s a fact.” He growls, leaning closer still until his lips are barely millimeters away from mine.

“Then why don’t you then.” My voice is breathy, and I hear the words muted as if I’m speaking underwater. I’m willing him to kiss me; willing him to lean down press that mouth to mine and take me right here in the kitchen; right up against the refrigerator.

Please, please, please I beg inside my head, biting my lip and staring deep into his deep blue eyes and wanting nothing more than to feel him slide inside of me. I’m so wet and I can feel my heart just racing as we stare at each other. But I need him to make the move first. I’m running for a seat on the State Senate for crying out loud, I can’t be throwing myself at my bodyguard - or my campaign financier, or both, or whatever the hell Hudson is. I just can’t, and for that singular reason, every fiber of my being and every thudding beat of my pulse in my veins wants him to tear my panties off and fuck me right here.

But he doesn’t, and the moment passes, and we both know it. Hudson moves away from me suddenly, his own chest rising quickly with his breath as he stares at me hungrily with a look I can’t quite read; “Like you said, Reagan; it’s nothing.”

P A S T

“Are you drinking?” My older sister’s eyes are narrowed, red-rimmed as they are as she leans down to sniff the cup of soda she’s snatched out of my hands.

“N-no.” I mumble out, fairly confident that there’s no way she’s going to smell the white wine I’ve dosed my diet-cola with. Yeah, I’m drinking white wine with coke; I was a very special breed of eighteen year old rebel.

Quinn swears at me, even though I know damn well she’s had a few herself; “It’s a wake, Reagan, not an open bar,” She hisses; always the one in charge, especially now.

“It’s not a wake, its a memorial vigil,” I say it tensely through gritted teeth.

Quinn looks at me sadly, shaking her head; “Ray, he’s d-“

“He’s missing, Quinn, he’s not dead.” Well, missing for three months, last seen near the Syrian border; presumed dead.

My sister tenses her jaw and exhales through her teeth, either because she’s thinking it too, or more likely because she’s just not about to have this argument again with me, here of all places. “In any case, you’re not supposed to be drinking.”

“So?” I sneer at her; “I’m mourning.” It’s really only half true; maybe even less actually. Of course I’m upset about my Father’s death, but the anger is still so present that it’s clouding my ability to really grasp that he’s gone. I’m angry that it’s felt like he’s been gone for years anyways; always off doing something in some random part in the world that he won’t tell us about and that I don’t want to know about anyways. I remember asking him once when I was much younger if what the kids at school had said were true; “Do you sell guns, Daddy?”

“It’s complicated, honey.”

Right, “complicated”. It’s bullshit like that, mixed with his complete absence from our lives - certainly after Mom died, but almost completely in the last three years - that have me spiking soda with wine like some sort of total amateur. I storm away from my sister, just in time to see the staff ushering Hudson into the room full of mourners along with the two other guys; Bryce and Logan. I barely know them - honestly, I hardly know much about Hudson really - but in that moment of them walking into my Dad’s funeral, I kind of hate them. I hate them because they were closer to my father than any of us ever were; the military sons he always wanted and never got. And in that moment, there at his funeral, their presence makes me feel like they have more of a right to be there then I do.

Of course, his being there is also just another lingering question as to what we’ve been doing the past few weeks. Since our pre-dawn ride to Bear Mountain, there’ve been other late-night calls and other adrenaline-filled car rides. We talk all night somewhere, or just go for a drive, or he show’s me some wild rooftop in the city I never knew existed. It’s platonic, but only on the surface. We smile and do weird things like shake hands after he drops me off at my dorm. But it wouldn’t take any sort of particular genius to see that below all that stuff lies something much more adult. Something powerful and aching and sensual, and barely contained lies beneath that “friend” surface, and every time he calls or every time I look into his eyes as he says goodnight to me, I feel like it’s going to come rushing out of us like a burst damn.

And of course, his eyes spot me almost instantly across the crowd, and they linger, and I’m sure he can see the deep flush of red spreading across my cheeks before I hastily turn around.

“Ms. Archer,” The deep voice shakes me from where my mind is somewhere lingering on Hudson, and I turn to the older man with the thick mustache who I vaguely remember meeting before. He’s military, and even though I’ve never bothered to learn what any of those pins and symbols mean, I’m pretty sure the amount of medals on his chest the golden oak leaves on his lapel mean he’s important.

“Major Lawson, ma’am; United States Marine Corp.” He salutes me, and I’m sort of not really sure what I should be doing with someone so formal, so I end up awkwardly curtseying. The Major’s stern-looking mouth turns up slightly in the corners as he smiles in an almost grandfatherly way at me; “I was quite close with your father, Ms. Archer; in fact you and I have met before, though you were a little girl back then.” He breathes and turns away for a second before he looks me directly in the eye; “My deepest condolences for your loss, Reagan; William Archer was one of the finest men I ever knew.”

Great, someone else telling me how great of a guy my Dad was. It would’ve been nice to have seen that for myself when he was still around.

Instead though, I nod quietly; “Yes, he was.”

He reaches out and takes my hand, and as I look into his face, I really do see the hurt and the pain of someone who truly knew my father; “I know he wasn’t always here for you girls, but you should know that your father was so proud of the women you all grew up to be, and I know he wished he could have told you that more often.”

I realize in that moment of sadness in his eyes that while I lost the ghost of someone I should have known better, this man lost a friend.

“Your father was a great man, Reagan, and if you don’t mind my saying, the apples have not fallen far from the tree.”

I thank him again before he moves back into the crowd, and now I really do need that drink.

P R E S E N T

A week later and I’m practically tearing my hair out over this fucking girl. It’s this fucked up mixture of frosty single-word banter with the girl I’m playing house with coupled with the fact that she’s been parading around the apartment in bra-less tank-tops and tiny little lounge shorts while she’s been practicing for her speeches or having conference calls with Donald and the rest of her team; it’s psychological torture is what it is.

Part of me doesn’t want to believe she’s doing any of it on purpose; that sweet little Reagan Archer isn’t actually capable of the sort of tormenting sexual manipulation I’m being forced to endure. But I’ve made a vow to myself that if I see one more fucking glimpse of an upper thigh, or one more top of her breast just begging to slip out of the tight little tank top that’s hugging her tits and pressing tight against her nipples, than I will not be able to help what happens next between her and I.

Thankfully she’s clothed here, at some teacher’s union meeting or wherever we are that she’s giving a speech to. Honestly, I hate crowds; hate the sounds and the noises and the way they make me nakedly aware of William Archer’s words: Blend in. Blending in is not something I do well with in crowds. And yet, here I am, standing here and enduring. Tell me again why the fuck I signed on for this?

Reagan pushes past me to get to the stage, her shampoo in my nostrils and her fingertips just lingering over my wrist as she slips past me.

Fuck. Oh, right, yeah that; that’s why I signed on for this.

As grueling as it’s been when we’re alone and she’s driving me completely wild, we’ve also been going out to events and speeches and fundraisers, and that’s a whole new game. I’m seeing her more and more in the limelight like this, and I’m getting it; she’s amazing at this shit. As childish or as flustered as she gets when I tease her,  or when we’re in the middle of this frosty bullshit cold-war, she’s fucking incredible at this whole politician thing. She exudes the confidence in front of crowds that you’re really only born with, and she acts the part and suddenly becomes older than her twenty-three years, and I get why she’s such a sensation.

She even dresses older. I mean obviously there’s no place for yoga pants and bra-less t-shirts on a campaign trail or on a news blurb. But the problem is, even in those conservative long skirts or even those fucking pants suits, she’s still sexy as all hell. Jesus, when’s the last time I- hell, when’s the last time anyone has checked out a chick’s ass in a pants suit?

But even as stunning as she looks, I’m still mesmerized by what she’s saying, and by her poise and her grace. And the people she speaks to go fucking nuts for her, and seeing that, I realize that she might actually win this thing.

I’m grinning at her from off-stage, laughing right along with the rest of these teachers over some joke about PTA meetings that I don’t even get, when I feel a tap on my arm. Before I can even turn, the tap is turning into a hand which snakes it’s way through my arm, and then all of a sudden I realize I’ve been blind-sided with a hug.

“Hiya handsome.”

Rachel- No, Tiff- shit. I’ve met her before. She does something with events planning with a firm we worked with months ago, and it seems she’s about as forward now as she was then when she literally palmed me her hotel key; which, of course, I left on the bar. There’s persistence, and then there’s just plain skanky, and the latter is a total turn-off for me. I wonder briefly if the bartender I passed the key-card on to ever ended up having a great night back then.

Samantha; that’s her name

“So, how’re things, big guy?” She purrs out; oozing sex through the wildly inappropriate low-cut of her neck and hemline, and pressing her tits against my arm.

I glance back at the stage, at Reagan, before I turn back to her; “I’m sort of working right now, actually.”

“You? Work?” She giggles obnoxiously and runs a finger up my chest, and it’s annoying the shit out of me.

“Yes, Samantha, I work.” I say irritably.

“Well, you want to come work on me?” Jesus, subtlety is not in this girl’s vocabulary. For a half-second, part of me responds, if only because I’m still so on fucking on edge from the week of watching Reagan; seven days and nights of working out with her, watching her practice her speeches in fucking shorts and tank-tops and seeing just a peak of her panties one time when the skirt she was wearing around the apartment rode up to her ass as she bent over to pull her boots on. Yeah, that part of me responds, just for a half-second.

But no; fuck no.

“Maybe some other time, Sam,” I smile thinly at her and turn at the sound of applause just in time to see Reagan coming off the stage, and then I’m even more pissed that Samantha’s kept me from hearing the rest of her speech.

“But boooo, I thought you’d be more fun.” Samantha wines, tugging on my arm and pressing her tits up against me even more.

‘Boo’? Is this girl fucking serious? I turn around again to yank my arm out of my grasp and give her a withering look, and when I turn back to the stage again, my eyes narrow and I growl.

Reagan is talking and laughing with some douche-y looking prep-school poster-boy, her hand on his arm as she laughs uproariously at something that’s just come out of his pompous-looking mouth. Erika, Reagan’s obnoxious “brand manager” is there too along with Donald, and the two of them are beaming like a couple of assholes at Reagan talking with this chump. The confusing surge of jealous only intensifies when they turn and nod at me before they all start to walk over to where I’m standing on the side of the stage with Samantha still hanging off of me.

“Hudson!” Donald says to me, as if we’re old pals. His face is all red and puffy from smooching this guy’s ass; “I wanted to introduce you to Congressman Kennedy.”

Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

The douchebag chuckles and puts his hand on Reagan’s shoulder for whatever reason he’s deemed that to be appropriate as he laughs, as if Donald’s just made the joke of the fucking century.

I want to hit him.

“Oh, no, not those Kennedy’s; I wish!” He chuckles again and Reagan is laughing right along with him; loudly.

“Chet Kennedy,” He says, sticking his hand like he’s about to sell me a used car. Holy shit, this is Chet the ex boyfriend? If I wanted to hit him before, I want to knock him the fuck out now.

“Nice to meet you,” I say as formally as possible, my voice frosty and leaden as I stick my hand out.

“New York Legislature; Westchester County, of course.” He says, as if I should know what even means. His eyes drop to the ink peeking out from my cuff and I see this smirking, judging look pass across his face. I squeeze his hand extra hard, enjoying seeing him wince. Reagan’s eyes are boring in on me, with a look on her face that I can’t quite read.

“Hiii! I’m Sam!” Fuck; she’s still fucking here and she’s still hanging off my arm. I glance at Reagan and see her eyes narrowing at Samantha before she slips her arm through Chet’s. My blood pressure immediately spikes through the ceiling.

Donald and Erika are all over the two of them, gushing over every dip-shit comment that comes out of his mouth and making sure every damn photographer in the room gets a picture of him and Reagan with their arms linked. Samantha is still tied around my arm, and the whole thing is just like watching a slow-motion car-wreck in action as I stand there with my throat feeling tight and my rage bubbling just below the surface. I want a cigarette; hell, I kind of want a drink.

Chet’s people come over and tear him away for something, and I can’t manage more than a barely perceivable nod as he tells me again how great it was to meet me. Donald’s shoots me a dirty look and taps the daily schedule printout in his hand against his watch, as if it’s my fucking fault that Chet has us running off schedule. I finally manage to shake the bimbo off my arm as he and Erika split, and then we’re alone on the side of the stage.

“What?”

Reagan’s shooting me this thin little smirk, her eye’s flashing at me; “So, Sam-“

I roll my eyes; “Not what you think.”

“Oh and what would I be thinking, Hudson, and why would I possibly think that?” Her sarcastic smile is exaggeratedly fake.

“Relax, Princess, she’s not my type.”

Reagan bristles at the word; “And what type would that be that, Hudson? The kind that has something besides air between their ears?” She snorts, “She sure had me fooled.”

For some reason, I grin; getting a weirdly smug sense of satisfaction from the fact that Reagan is clearly jealous. “Well what about you and Chet back there? You guys pick out color-schemes yet for the Lincoln bedroom?”

Reagan rolls her eyes, “Oh give me a break-“ Her eyes land on me and she grins; “What, are you jealous?”

I tense up inside, but I keep my voice cool; “What, of Chet and his collection of polo shirts and boat shoes?” I snort; “Uh, no, Reagan, I’m not.”

“Oh, and what, is little miss Tits McGee back there supposed to make me jealous?”

I want to laugh, but the fire in her eyes stops me, and I sigh exasperatingly instead; “Jesus, what about our relationship would make you this jealous seeing that girl hanging off my arm?”

“There is no ‘our relationship’, Hudson” She snaps, looking fierce and adorable at the same time.

“Yeah, no shit, Princess.”

I see her eyes blaze at me, and she open’s her mouth to say something but then stops herself and shake’s her head instead; “We’re late for the next appearance today, lets go.” She says curtly, before turning on her heel and storming away, leaving me standing there watching her walk away. I want to kick myself for saying shit like that to her, but really, I know why I do it. I push her away like that because I can’t let her get close; not with the shit that I’m carrying around. Fuck; I saw hell on Earth in the desert, so why the fuck can’t I deal with this girl?

P A S T

“What are you drinking?” Reagan’s been giving me this weird look from across the room for the past fifteen minutes while I’ve been giving my condolences to the rest of her family. I’ve finally extricated myself from Bryce and Logan, and some Aunt who I’ve never met before, and made my way over to where she’s sitting on the bottom step of the curved staircase in the foyer.

“I’m not.”

She frowns at me as she sips on the cup of what looks like coke but smells suspiciously like something else; “Well, it’s a funeral, you probably should be.” She clearly has been, as she leans into me and holds my gaze in that slightly glazed way a good couple of drinks will do to you. She sighs and looks into her cup; “Sorry, I forg- It’s just sort of weird being back here without him, even if he was barely every here anyways.”

I nod, intimately knowing the feeling she’s describing, since it’s how I feel about everything, every day I wake up after coming back from what I did; “Yeah, I know the feeling.” She’s still staring into her cup, so I try and change the subject; “Hey so how’s art history going?”

“Renaissance Art, and I switched to Political Science.”

I can’t help but grin, knowing how much the Old Man would have smirked at that one; “Hey, that’s pretty coo-“

“Do you want to go for a walk?” She’s looking up at me with that same look on her face that I can’t quite read, thought I can see a flare of wildness there that always manages to drag me into her.

“Uh, sure?” No, bad idea, bad fucking idea asshole! I’ve been around enough girls in this exact same precursor to a mistake to know what “do you want to go for a walk” means. But when she stands and offers her hand, I’m still grabbing ahold and getting up to following her as she leads us away from the crowd. I follow her up the staircase and down the hallways, and I almost want to say some quip about ‘interesting walk, up here where your bedroom probably is’ but I don’t because that would be crass, and that’s something I’m working on.

But we don’t go to her room anyways. We end up in the huge second floor library that’s practically two stories in itself. She’s running her fingers over the spines of leather books, almost wistfully, and when she looks back over her shoulder at me and smiles, I’m lost. She opens the double doors at the end of the room to the private stone terrace and steps out.

Idiot; you fucking asshole idiot this is such a dumb fucking move.

I need to leave. What I should be doing is turning right around and heading right back to that crowd of mourners downstairs morning my friend and her Father. But instead, I follow her out into the night air.

She takes a deep breath and lets her head drop back as she stares up at the stars, and she’s so fucking beautiful and so fucking sad standing there that I want to put my arms around her and tell her I’m here, but I know I can’t and shouldn’t do that; not here, not now, not ever.

“It’s nice out here; nice and quiet.” She turns and smiles at me; “Sorry, I just couldn’t be in there anymore.”

I shrug; “I don’t really do crowds either.”

She smiles and turns, and walks over to the stone balcony on the edge of the terrace. I’m tongue tied; me, for the first time ever at a loss of what to say; “He was a great-“

“I don’t really want to talk about my Father right now.”

She turns, her hands behind her as she leans back on the balcony, looking perfectly broken and like the perfect fix all tossed into one beautiful package. She smiles at me and bites her lip in this sexy, innocent way as she slowly raises one of her hands from behind her and starts to beckon me with one finger.

No. Stop. Stop it.

But I’m ignoring that voice inside my head as I walk in slow motion towards her. It’s like I’m walking underwater, in a dream, as I put one foot in front of the other, and before I know it I’m standing right in front of her. Her eyes are huge, and blue, and looking up at me with such sadness and such determination, and I can smell the lavender of her shampoo in her hair, and before the world can move another inch across it’s starry path, I’m kissing her. It’s fire, and passion, and it’s everything I’ve ever imagined kissing someone who matters feels like, and its like my whole life gets hit with a reset button; like I know after this I can start clean.

She moans into my mouth, the sound both soft and completely sexy at the same time, and I find myself growling as I push myself against her. Her hands are at my neck, pulling at my tie and unbuttoning my shirt, and my hand is sliding over her thigh. I’m pushing her dress higher, feeling her shiver and whimper into me as my hand trails up until I feel lace, and heat, and-

Protect them.

The words hit me like slap across the face. Fuck; I can’t do this. I want to do this with every single fiber of everything I am, but what the fuck am I doing?

I pull away from her; “Wait, hang on,” She’s leaning forward to kiss me again and I draw back further; “Reagan, hold on.”

“What?” She’s looking at me like she messed up; like it’s her that’s doing something wrong, and that look just kills me.

“I-“ What, tell her I can’t do this? Tell her it is her? Yeah, no, fuck that; I’m not doing that to her. “I- I just need to go get something for a sec.”

She gives me a strange, nervous look as she bites her lip; “Oh-“

Ah, shit, she thinks-

“Ok, there might be one in my sister’s room, in the bedside table.” She looks so shy, so innocent, and so on the verge of breaking, and its giving me the fuel I need to walk away. I can’t let her get into me; can’t let her touch the wreck I am inside. Reset button? How fucking delusional am I? I’m broken, and in the way that can’t be fixed.

“I’ll uh, I’ll see you soon.”

And then I’m walking away; walking away from the one girl in the world I can’t get out of my head and regretting it and hating every step I take as I let the terrace and her and the memory of that one perfect moment in time slip away behind me.

P R E S E N T

There’s something dreamlike about being back in the Old Man’s house in Greenwich, and I feel like I’m half-asleep as I wander through it. The strongest thing is, I’ve only ever been here a handful of times, but every single one sticks out like a dog-eared bookmark along the pages of my past. The kitchen has the lingering memories of swapping stories of trauma and horror with William over mushroom pizza; like our own fucked up little PTSD support group. There’s the guest-room upstairs, where he and I sat by day and night with Bryce for seven fucking days in a row while he detoxed off the junk; screaming his demons out at the ceiling while we held him down and kept him hydrated. I can remember parking myself in the library and reading every damn book the Old Man had on power and management and business when he set me up within Archer.

And then of course, there’s the garden out back where I first met Reagan, and really, thats the weirdest part. It’s not just that I haven’t been back here since William died, it’s that the last time I was here was when I kissed her.

“Remind me again why we picked this place for the media Q&A?” I grin hearing her walk up behind me where I’m staring off across the back gardens like a weirdo. It’s basically the first time she’s spoken to me since our little stupid blowup yesterday, and I can tell she’s just as weirded out by being back at her Father’s place as I am which gives me a strange comfort. We both have our own ghosts about this place, but I can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking about that last time we were both here too.

“One guess, but I’ll give you a hint; it starts with a ‘D’ and ends with ‘onald’.”

She snorts, and as I turn to her, I see her look up at me like she’s about to say something.

“Reagan! We’re live in two damn minutes!”

Goddamnit, Donald.

Reagan rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and with one last flickering look at me, she’s following her campaign manager back through the house to the front steps where they’re holding the press conference.

*****

I’m anxious and restless; subtly shifting my weight from foot to foot, tensing my muscles, and generally feeling too warm under my dress-shirt. I start to roll the sleeves up too before Donald gives me the evil eye and mutters something about “not testing well with target demographics” as he scowls at my tattoos, so I leave them be with a scowl right back at him.

My nervousness of course has nothing to with Reagan talking to the media. No, fuck that, she’s flawless up there, looking every bit the political powerhouse behind the podium. Her answers are effortless, she’s direct and yet light, and she makes them laugh without even trying to play the comedian. No, what I’m fidgeting about is how I’m going to apologize to her about yesterday when we’re done here. There’s a nervous, rumbling energy inside of me that tumbles under the surface; the kind I usually only get when I’m strapping on my gloves for what I know is going to be a long, rough session with the bag, or when I think too long about the past. I want to tell her everything - all of it - and that quite honestly scares the shit out of me.

I’m walking towards her with a grin on my face, ready to pull her away from all of this and just lay it all out, when mother-fucking Chet swoops out of nowhere with Donald tailing behind him like a puppy dog. And then it’s just a repeat of the previous day, where I’m gritting my teeth and trying to keep my cool while this asshole cracks stupid jokes and mugs for the cameras next to Reagan, using every ounce of my willpower to try and ignore the fact that he keeps touching her on the arm.

And really, it’s not even Chet; it’s the thought of any guy putting their hands on her that makes me rage inside. The thought makes my fists clench up and brings me right back to where I was, drunk and fucked up in whatever shit-hole third world slum we were in at the time back then. I can’t help but think of my hands on her; my hands running down her sides, feeling the curve of her hips and the heat between her legs.

Fuck, I mean I was so close to everything one time, and not just the prospect of fucking her, but I mean everything. That last time we were both here, I know it was something more and something deeper than just the idea of banging a chick. It was fucking way more than that, which is why five Goddamn years later I still can’t get it out of my head and still can’t get her out from under my skin. I think I even knew back then that when I kissed her for that first time, I was just done. With her, there was light, and peace, and finally a fucking silence to the blaring of my memories that scream through my head. I was so fucking close to knowing her, and letting her in before I ruined it.

I realize I’ve been zoning out again as I hear Chet’s horrible little weasel laugh.

“So I say, that’s how you putt a par-three, baby!” Donald erupts in laughter right along with him, and even Reagan is humoring him with a smile; the kind of smile I’ve barely seen tossed my way in days.

“Am I right, Hudson?” Chet winks at me; “Yeah this guy knows what I’m talking about!”

I have no fucking idea in the world what he’s talking about.

“Hey so Hudson, remind me what it is you do over at Archer Holdings? You were a fighter pilot or something, right? Currahee!” Chet pumps his fist in the air like he’s at a football game or something.

Seriously, punching this asshole in the face right here and right now would be an act of mercy.

“I was a Marine, actually. And Currahee is the 101st Airborn; Army.”

Reagan gives me a look, and I begrudgingly plaster a nicer, totally disingenuous look on my face; “I make sure the money flows in the right direction at Archer and just pretty much fix problems.”

Chet grins and elbow’s me in the arm like we’re buddies; “Fix things, huh? So, you think you can fix this girl’s phone so she can call me back sometime?” Chet laughs hysterically at his own joke, with Donald right there with him clapping him on the back.

No, but I can fix how fucking straight your teeth are in about five seconds, dickwad.

But Reagan is laughing too, even though I know she can’t stand this clown either. She’s touching his arm and leaning into him, and I wince as a photographer flashes a quick shot of the two of them like that which I’m sure will end up on some stupid blog somewhere involving “romance on the campaign trail” or some other bullshit that Donald and Erika cook up.

I want to hate all of this; all the fucking pageantry and the concocted narratives, and I definitely want to hate Reagan having her picture taken with this fucking guy. But deep down, I get it. I look around at the college volunteers clearing chairs from the front lawn; I see the campaign posters with her face on them, and the boxes of buttons and t-shirts with her name emblazoned across them, and I get it. Chet’s obnoxious, and vanilla, and a total talking head, but he fits the part. This is who she should be with, I think darkly to myself; not some fucked up broken toy soldier like me, with all the shit I’m still carrying around on my shoulders. This girl is fucking incredible, but her being with a guy like this just makes sense, and I’m fucking delusional to think otherwise.

She laughs again at something stupid he says - the sound so perfect and so pure and good - and I can’t; I’m just done.

I’m barely aware of Donald asking me where I’m going as I just walk away; away from the lights and the camera and Reagan and Chet.

P A S T

I’m still trying to breath; still trying to get my racing heart to calm down enough for it to drop out of my throat and back into my chest where it belongs, even five minutes after he went back inside. I just kissed Hudson; I mean, holy shit. And not just any old “kiss” either; not some chaste princess-movie kiss, but a searing-hot, gravity-defying kiss that still has me grinning like an idiot and trying to feel the floor beneath my feet. Or did he kiss me? Does it matter? Does anything else in the world matter right now after that?

Ten minutes after, I’ve calmed myself a little more, but I’m biting my lip nervously as I start to wonder about what comes next. I mean am I really going to do this with him? I mean it’s not like I’m a virgin or anything; well, not technically at least. That dubious technicality involves a spectacularly brief encounter with my date to senior prom. But this is Hudson we’re talking about; Hudson with the dangerously charming smile, Hudson with the practically legendary history of women trailing after him. I’ve been drinking, but I’m hardly drunk anymore; maybe from that kiss, but not from wine. But I’m worried now that there was a boldness and a confidence in me that I’m not used to when I pretty much dragged him up here, and now I’m starting to wonder how much longer that boldness is going to last me without his lips on mine.

Fifteen minutes after he went inside, I decide I can’t just stand here out on the terrace tapping my feet, so I find myself walking back into the house. He’s not in Quinn’s room, not where I told him to look for condoms, and he’s not in mine, where I’m secretly hoping to find him waiting for me. Walking back downstairs is like slowly re-immersing myself into reality, as the shadowy murmuring sounds of family and mourners sucks me back into the now. I’m scanning the room for him, thinking maybe he got drawn back down for some sort of emergency or to help someone, but I’m still not seeing him.

His back is to me, and he’s standing with a bunch of other suits in corner of the foyer, and I’m about to go up and tap him on the shoulder when I hear it, and the floor just drops out from under me; “..A girl like that is just another place to get your dick wet.”

It’s his voice; the same man who just kissed me with a passion I never knew existed in the world, and who told me he’d be right back is now telling a bunch of his buddies that he fucked me. I’m backing away slowly, realizing that the pain inside my chest is the feeling of my heart just breaking.

“Reagan, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

I turn quickly to the woman I’ve never met before who probably worked for my father - someone else who probably new him better than I did - and nod quickly; “Uh, thanks.”

“He was a great man.” She looks at me plaintively, shaking her head and pursing her lips.

“M-hmm.” When I look back, he’s gone, and I can feel the shattered pieces inside of me tumbling to the floor. I turn back to the women talking to me about my father, and it’s then that I see him. It’s right then, surrounded by the mourners and shadows and memories of my father, that I see the Hudson Banks - the man that just broke my heart - shuffling out the front door with the pretty blonde girl hanging off his arm and giggling at something he’s saying. He’s nodding quickly at the valet out front and helping the drunk-looking bimbo into the passenger seat of his car before he turns quickly, his eyes darting over the crowd quickly as if trying to make sure he’d not caught making this escape like this. He doesn’t see me - which is good because if we’d locked eyes in that moment, I’d have broken entirely - before he takes a quick breath, his face looking dark, and slides into the car. And then he’s roaring away, dust kicking up behind the car with the screaming giggle of her voice trailing out the window.

And then he’s gone.

There’s a sting; something piercing deep inside that threatens to take me to my knees right here as I realize what a complete fool I’ve been. And in that moment, I’m not even sure I’m mad at him; I’m mad at myself. I’m mad at being the silly little stupid girl I never wanted to be. I’m mad at letting my convictions and my armor and my sensibilities drop for just a second; only realizing now that it was just enough to get hurt.

The tears start to come then, and another person I don’t know is hugging me and telling me how it’s all going to be ok. And with this stranger’s arms around me, I realize how awful I am that I’m standing there shedding tears over some bullshit crush on some bullshit shadow of a man named Hudson instead of my father, who I should be crying over.

And then I’m tearing away and pushing my through the crowd, back up the stairs, past the Goddamn library and the terrace, and down to my room. I’m under the covers, my face pressed tight to my pillow as I sob; for my father, for me, for the pain of growing up and the bitterness of life.

P R E S E N T

“Hudson!” I’m stomping up the staircase to the second floor, chasing him as he storms down the hallway

“Goddamnit, Hudson where-“

“Go back, Reagan.” He’s in the upstairs library, pushing open the double doors to the the terrace where that kiss happened all those years before; back to the scene of the crime. I tense myself and tighten my jaw as I stand staring at the double doors across the room where he’s just gone through, feeling the licking tendrils of the shivering cold teasing through the crack where he’s left them not quite closed. I storm across the room, fling them open and step out into the chilly night; determined to corner him here.

“What the fuck was that back there?”

He turns, his face looking tight and tense and his sharp blue eyes blazing liquid fire as they stare at me; “It’s nothing, Reagan; just leave it. Oh and say hi to Chet for me.”

I stare at him, feeling my own flame begin to churn inside of me; “You’re jealous? Of Chet?”

“Of course I’m fucking jealous.” He growls it quietly, before he starts to stalk past me back into the house.

“You know it wasn’t just that you rejected me and made me feel like a complete idiot.” My mouth spits the words out before my brain can stop me, and he freezes in the doorway.

He whirls around, his eyes blazing that steely blue fire as he looks right into mine.

“It wasn't just that you humiliated me, Hudson; after you led me on like that.” I take a shaky breath, realizing I’m about to say everything I’ve been wanting to tell him for five years; “I was young-“

“So was I-“

“You knew better!” The pained look in his eyes says it all, but I just can’t stop; “And you just left me there!” I can feel the tears begin to well up, hot and stinging my eyes as my heart races in my chest.

“I was a mess, Reagan,” He says gruffly, a tightness to his voice; “I was broken and I didn’t want you to get dragged into my-“

“You know what Hudson? Fuck you- its not that!” I’m desperately trying to keep it together and not let myself fly off the handle, but it feels like the whole stupid thing is about to give way. I feel my throat tighten, catching my breath in my throat; “It’s not even that you wound me up and left me feeling like a stupid little girl-“ My chest burns and my eyes sting as I glare at him, standing there with his smoldering gaze just burning into me; “I mean what was the point of pretending you even liked me like that for all that time Hudson?” I’m crying now and telling him this, and basically doing everything I don’t do as I just spill everything; “What was the point of making me feel like I was special or like you even wanted me?”

“Jesus, Reagan, because I-“

“I saw you!” Tears are rolling down my cheeks, fueled by the memory of him driving away all those years before; “I fucking saw you leaving with that girl, OK?” My breath hitches as I try and fight the tears; “And after nothing even happened with us, you went off and gloated to everyone that you fucked the boss’s daughter anyways!”

His face crumbles into a frown; “Reagan, what the fuck are you talking abou-”

“ ‘A girl like that is just another place to get your dick wet’, right Hudson? That’s what you fucking said, right?” Hudson’s face is tight and his eyes are flashing fire at me he takes a step forward and reaches for me, but I rip my arm away and turn away from him; “No, forget this, and fuck you, Hudson; fuck this whole thing, just leave me alo-“

He grabs me, his grip tight on my arm, and I gasp as I feel him pull me around and yank me against his chest; “Will you listen to me!” He growls.

I can feel my heart leap into my throat as he holds me tight against him, and I fall right into those eyes as the smell of him and the feel of his hands on my skin just draw me right in. “Don’t touch me!” But I know my fight is gone the second I find myself in his arms, and I’m not stopping him.

He shoves me back against the ivy-covered wall behind me, his body so close to mine that I can feel his heat; “I gave that girl a ride home because she was wasted, and her boyfriend was being an asshole.”

“Oh, please; fucking save me the bullshit Hudso-“

“Logan.” He growls out; “Logan was her boyfriend. They fought, she was drunk, and I was going back to New York anyways; that’s why she was in my car.”

His eyes pierce into me, and I’m trying to fight the cooling effect they’re having on my temper because I need to be mad; I need to scream at him and tell him I hate him because if I don’t I’ll explode. “You- you told that group of guys that we-!”

“You didn’t hear the whole thing, did you.” The winter wind whips up over the terrace, and I shiver again him. “Those guys were a bunch of douchebag finance assholes who worked for Archer Holdings, and I bumped into them after I told Logan I’d take his girl home.” His eyes narrow as if he’s remembering the moment, and he sort of looks through me as he talks; “They were all bullshitting around, talking about girls and their conquests or whatever, when one of them said something about a pool they all had about sleeping with one of the Archer girls.” Hudson’s face glowers darkly, and his eyes flash with a fierce emotion; “One little prick said something especially foul about you, and yeah, what I said was; ‘if you think a girl like that is just another place to get your dick wet, we’re going to have a problem’,” Hudson’s eyes bore fiercely into mine; “I’m guessing you left before I told him I’d push him off the fucking roof if I ever heard him talk about you or your sisters like that again.”

I stare at him, feeling the heat of his palms on my skin in stark contrast to the chill in the air around us. I want to believe him -  desperately want to believe him, by I’m still hanging onto that hate; that feeling of betrayal. I roll my eyes and sneer at him; “Oh, right, and you expect me to believe-“

“Goddamnit, Reagan,” He snarls at me, his face strained and tight, and suddenly I know I’m watching that armor drop away and I’m seeing the real Hudson; “Do you have any fucking idea how hard it was to walk away from you?” He says softly; “How could you think I’d-“

“Because thats you! That’s just fucking like you, Hudson!”

“Not since you!” He barks.

“What the hell is that suppose to me-“

“Jesus, Reagan for once will you just shut the fuck up.” And then he’s kissing me, his lips crashing into mine hard as he presses me up against the stone behind me, and I feel my whole body fall into him

But I yank myself back from him somehow, and before I can think it through, I’m smacking him across the face; “I’m not going to be just another notch you know!”And this time, I’m kissing him, smothering that look of wild bewilderment and primal fury on his face as I kiss him with everything I have. I feel his strong arms tighten around my waist, pulling me hard against him, and I moan into his mouth as I feel the throbbing between his legs pressing hotly against me.

“You could never be ’just another’ anything, Reagan Archer,” He growls into my kiss; “You couldn't be even if you tried.” And when he kisses me again, the whole world disappears around us.

I grind into him, whimpering into his mouth as I feel his body hard against mine and feel his hands slide down to cup my ass. I’m shoving aside the voice inside my head that’s screaming at what a terrible idea all of this is, trying to smother it as Hudson smothers my mouth with his lips. I shouldn’t be kissing him like this, or moaning into his mouth as his hands grab my ass, or arching my back and rocking my pelvis against the thick hardness of his cock pressing at the front of his pants. No, I definitely shouldn’t be doing any of those things; not here, not now, and definitely not with Hudson Banks.

“We- we shouldn’t be doing this!” I whimper out, moaning as he sucks my earlobe between his lips.

“We should definitely be doing this,” He growls softly; “I can’t even tell you what I wanted to do with you the last time we were up here,” He says hotly into my ear, sending shivers through my whole body.

Oh, I want to know everything he wanted to do with me; everything he wants to do with me; “Show me,” I whisper out, my voice heavy with lust, and I’m shocked at my own words even as true as they are.

He’s yanking my prim and proper jacket off of me, and I’m shrugging it off my shoulders as I moan into his kiss. “Well, this, for one,” He tears my conservative blouse apart, sending the buttons scattering and making me gasp at the ferocity of him as I arch my back towards him as I feel his hands sliding over the thin lace of my bra, making my nipples pucker into hard points under his touch. His mouth slides down my neck, nipping at my skin as he kisses over the tops of my breasts. I whimper as he yanks my bra down, baring my nipples to his hungry eyes, and then I cry out as his lips wrap around one rosy nub; his tongue darting across and sending jolts of electricity shooting through my whole body.

I arch my back and thrust my chest out towards him, gasping as his mouth sucks at my sensitive nipples; “Th- that’s all you’ve been waiting five years to do?” I moan out, biting my lip as my hands running up the muscles of his arm. He answers with his hand sliding up the inside of thigh, and I whimper as he pushes my conservative skirt up around my waist as his fingers find my heat.

“No, Princess,” He says with heat in his voice as he brings his head up to stare into my eyes; “That is far from the only thing I’ve wanted to do to you for the last five fucking years.”

He growls as his fingers slide beneath the edge of my soaking wet panties and slide through my folds. “God, you’re so fucking wet for me,” he husks into my lips, and I gasp, my hands clutching at his arm muscles as he pushes a finger inside. I kiss him with a ferocity as I feel him curl his finger inside of me, stroking that special place just inside and making me whimper and moan for him. No one has ever spoken to me like that before, and the barbaric animalism of it has me desperate for more.

“Take off your shirt for me,” he says thickly, punctuating his words with a curl of his finger.

“Jesus, are you always this bossy?” I say with a grin as I begin to pull the torn blouse from my shoulders.

“Bossy?” He pulls back from lips with hungry grin on his face; “Princess, I have not even begun to show you bossy.”

I gasp as he pulls his fingers from my center and spins me around suddenly, pushing me right up against the stone railing.

“Bend over,” He growls out deeply, sending a chill down my spine.

“What? Hudson-“

“I said bend over.”

And I’m doing it. I’m holding onto the stone and bending over for him, arching my ass out towards him and almost not even being able to handle how much it turns me on that he’s bossing me around like this. I’m not one to take orders, but listening to him has me wetter than anything. His hands on are on my hips, pushing my skirt up around my waist as he hooks his fingers into the waist of my panties. I shiver as he yanks them down over my ass, pulling them off my hips and down to my knees as he kneels behind me. But my surprise quickly turns to pleasure though as I feel his mouth on my pussy. I moan and grab tightly to the railing as his tongue pushes deep inside of me, and I can feel the reverberations through my whole body as he growls into me. He licks and eats me like a starving man, his hands grabbing tightly to my ass and pulling me against his face as he slides his tongue through my wetness. When he wraps his lips around my clit and flicks his tongue across it, it takes everything I have not to scream out over the whole estate. My hand is sliding across my breasts, pulling on my nipples as I whimper and moan and push myself back against his tongue. I know somewhere deep inside that we shouldn’t be doing this, or that someone could walk in and see us. But when he sucks my clit hard between his lips and slides a finger deep inside me, us not doing this is very quickly the very last thing on my mind.

I want all of him; right here where we came so close before. I want to feel him slide that hard cock deep inside of me and fuck me right here, and I want to cry out his name without a care in the world about who hears as I come for him. I try to pull away from him, to draw off the sensation and wait, but his strong hands hold me firmly in place and his tongue and his finger only get more insistent. And when I hear him moan into my pussy, as if the sheer act of tasting me is so erotic to him that he can’t help but let go, it’s too much, and I explode. I bite down hard on my hand, the pain lancing through me almost heightening the pleasure as I come against his mouth. And as the white moon shines down on us hidden away on our terrace, I fucking scream his name into my hand as my whole body just shatters with the pure release.

P A S T

“This is fucking impossible.” I slam the laptop shut, my eyes blurred from the rows and rows of spreadsheets I’ve been staring at.

“What’s impossible?” Bryce looks at me cooly from across the office; always so calm, always so precise with his emotions in a way that I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to be.

“This,” I say, flipping the bird to the laptop in front of me.

Bryce chuckles; “Mind over machine, Hudso-“

“I’m not a fucking accountant, man.” I growl at him, standing to walk over towards the big windows looking out over the river that bears my name; or the opposite, I guess. “I mean we’re soldiers, Bryce. This?” I turn, pulling at the lapels of a suit that costs more than I used to spend on food in a year as I shake my head at him; “This isn’t us man. What the fuck was he thinking putting us in charge of shit like this?”

Bryce is quiet, looking at me pointedly in that zen way he does that’d be infuriating if he wasn’t my brother; “No one ever said you were an accountant, Hudson.”

“Ok, then what do you call looking at numbers all fucking da-“

“I call it problem solving.”

I arch my brow at him; “Excuse me?”

“Problem solving. You’re not ‘being an accountant’, Hud, you’re looking for problems and finding solutions, which is what you’re good at.”

I laugh; “You’ve met me, right?” I shake my head; “Dude, I am the problem most of the time.”

“Ok, who figured out how to get us past that road block on the Chinese border?”

I roll my eyes; “It’s called bribing, Bry-“

“Who got us out of that detention center in Cairo after all that shit went down where they were going to sell us to the State Department?”

“Oh, you mean the shit that went down because of me?”

He rolls his eyes; “Somalia, Angola, the DRC; dude, you’ve saved our butts like two dozen times, and it’s because you know how to think your way out of a box.”

“Bryce, you’re don’t know what you’re-“

“Oh fuck off, Hudson.” He stands and walks over to the window; “When will you just admit to yourself that you’re a whole new man, and that the fuck-up you were died back there in the desert?” He looks at my with cool, stony eyes; “And when will you just learn how to take a fucking compliment, man?”

P R E S E N T

We’re back inside the house camped out on opposites sides of the sofa in the library looking out over the moon-lit grounds of her father’s house. If I had my way, she’d be on my lap, and preferably naked, instead of four feet away across the giant expanse of couch. But I know she’s right that we need to maintain distance; I know what this can’t look like. Of course, being this close to her when I can still taste her on my tongue is driving me nine different shades of crazy, and I shift again uncomfortably as my cock presses rock hard against my pants.

She’s glowing in the dim moonlight streaming in through the windows; her whole face lighting up in a way I’ve seen so rarely since walking back into her life as she grins at me from the other end of the sofa; “So, is that what you do to all the young female politicians that Archer Holdings funds?”

“Oh, absolutely” I say with a totally straight face; “Although most of them don’t try and yank my hair out by the roots when they come on my tongue.”

I can see the shade of red her face goes even from here, and even through the white light of the moon as she rolls her eyes; “Dick.”

“Oh, is that what you were after?” I’m teasing her, but I shrug and start to reach for my zipper.

“Hudson!” She hisses, her eyes darting to the wide open library doorway before her concerned look drops back to me and she sees the smirk on my face. “Asshole,” she says with a wry grin. She swings her feet up into the couch as she turns to face me; “So that’s how you used to get all those girls you’d parade around with? Just whip out the fishing rod and see what bites?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” The banter is making me grin, and I can see her roll her eyes as she tries to hide the flash of smile on her face. “Of course, it helps to have a big rod.” I say with a sly wink, and I love seeing her face instantly get even redder as she buries it in her hands.

“Well, I wouldn’t know.” She says primly; mock sophistication in her voice.

I arch an eyebrow at her and she bites her lips and rolls her eyes, and I know she’s thinking about walking in on me in the bathroom; “I mean I wouldn’t know what it feels like.”

“But you’re dying to, right?”

My hand slides over her foot and up to her calf, and I can hear her sharp intake of breath; “Mayb-“

“There you are!” Reagan jerks her feet away from me at the sound of Donald’s voice behind us as if she’d just had them in hot coals. I frown as I see her relaxed body instantly stiffen back to formal, political Reagan.

“Goddamnit Reagan,” Donald grumbles, storming into the room towards us; “It is not ok to just walk away from mingling with those types of people like that; it sends a bad message.” He glares at me, his eyes narrowing as if trying to suss out why it is Reagan is here alone with me in the dark library.

Good thing you didn’t come knocking fifteen minutes ago, dick, I think to myself.

“What, those type of people like Chet Kennedy?” Reagan rolls her eyes as she stands and smooths out her skirt; “I have far more important things to worry about than what dipshits like him think of m-“

“Dammit we talked about this Reagan!” Donald fumes; “I don’t care if Chet Kennedy is literally Adolf Hitler; he tests amazingly well with your target demographic.”

I can see her tensing up, the laid-back and relaxed Reagan of five minutes ago gone as she frowns; “So, what, are you trying to pimp me out for ratings, Donald?”

“You better believe it.”

She stares at him for a second before she shakes her head in disgust; “Fuck you.” She whirls on her heel and storms out of the room.

“Jesus, Donald,” I mutter, standing as well and glowering at him; “I mean she hates the guy-“

“You know, Hudson,” Donald interrupts, his eyes narrowing at me; “I see what you’re doing, and you’re not going to ruin this for me.”

I furrow my brow; “For you?”

“For the campaign.” He mutters, but I know what he means, and it puts me instantly on edge; “We both want the same thing for the campaign, Hudson.”

“For Reagan, you mean.”

He shrugs; “A campaign is a campaign; I’d have figured a big important business man like yourself would understand that,” he says with a sneer. “Reagan makes a great figurehead for that campaign, but its the run that’s important here.”

“You mean it doesn’t matter if she wins or not, as long as the campaign is good?” My voice starts to rise as I shake my head in disgust at him. Because then you become the next wizard campaign manager for putting a twenty three year old girl up for a New York Senate seat and running a ‘good campaign’, even if she doesn’t win.

“I don’t expect one of William’s army buddies to understand.”

“Marines, dick.”

Donald shakes his head; “Regardless, it’s nothing you’d understand. If Archer Holdings wants to finance the campaign, thats great. And if they think you need to somehow protect her like some sort of bodyguard, fine, I’m even ok with that too.” He frowns and takes another step towards me before he sticks his finger out and pokes me in the chest; “But if you think theres anything else for you here, I’m here to tell you that you are sorely mistaken.”

“Fuck you, Donald.”

“Look, you’re here to protect an investment, right?” He frowns at me again; “So do your fucking job. ‘Protect the investment’ doesn’t mean suddenly deciding you know more about running a candidate than I do, ok?”

“You’re pushing her too hard.”

“She’ll adapt and she’ll mold into what she needs to be.”

I shake my head at him and his mechanical robot answers; “Jesus, Donald; are you fucking serious?”

“Hudson this isn’t the first time I’ve helped a trust-fund kid play politics you know.”

I can feel my temper start to rage inside, my hands clutching at my side; “We both know she’s a lot more than that.”

Donald just shrugs; “Look, I get it. She’s beautiful, charismatic, magnetic; she’s William’s daughter - I mean really Hudson, I get why you’re following her around like you are.” For a moment I bristle; suddenly wondering if Donald actually knows whats going on between Reagan and I. “I mean I’m glad you’ve decided to be her friend like you’ve been-“ whew, guess not “- and thats exactly the kind of attraction we’re working for her target demographic.” He looks at me shrewdly; “Don’t fool yourself though, Reagan has an angle here, and that angle is to get elected, not be your pal.”

“Donald, the only one playing shadow angles here is you.” I growl, feeling my jaw tense.

He shrugs; “Look, you want to help her? Keep her locked down; keep her focused on what she needs to do.” He starts to walk out of the room before he pauses and turns at the door; “Stick to the plan, Hudson.” And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in this dark library full of ghosts and questions and my own shattered thoughts.

P A S T

“Well I think it’s awesome,” Chelsea says, sipping on her coffee.

“Thanks. I mean it’s just a low-level position for the campaign, but he’s a pretty strong incumbent, so it’ll be great experience to work for his office.”

Chelsea grins, “Dad would’ve loved that you’re getting into politics you know.”

“Not why I’m doing it, but fine.” I mutter.

Chelsea huffs and slaps her hand down hard on the bench we’re camped out on in Central Park; “Ok, honestly, when are you going to let all of that go?”

I scowl and look away from her; “What does it matter?”

“It matters because it’s not healthy to keep letting it eat away at you like that! Ok, fine, we get it! Dad worked a lot, and he missed some stuff, and you’re mad about it!”

“Are you not?” I snap at her.

“We all have regrets, Reagan, but no, I’m not at him for working hard, or for Mom dying so young.”

I look away again, wordless and angry.

“He did what he could-“

“Well it wasn’t good enough, now was it!?”

Chelsea’s face tightens as she holds my furious look and shakes her head; “He’s dead, Reagan; you think you can get around to forgiving him now anyways?”

P R E S E N T

Donald is talking about polling points, or something to do with “provisional budgeting”, but I’m honestly not even hearing a word he says.  It’s hardly been a handful of hours since what happened back at the house in Greenwich, and while we might be back in the the City, my mind is still right back there on that balcony, watching my breath crystalize in the chill of the air as Hudson’s hot mouth devours me-

“Reagan!”

I snap out of my fantasy to see Donald shaking his head and snapping his fingers at me, Erika tut-tuting behind him like some sort of angry schoolmarm.

“I need you to be here, Reagan,” He huffs, his face red; “If you’d rather daydream though, let me know now and I’ll quit wasting my time with this damn campaign.”

I want to snap at him, but in all honestly, I know he’s right. We are way too deep into this campaign for me to be slacking off like this and letting myself be carried away by distractions. Fuck, is that what he is? I mean everything that we said back there at the house was so nakedly honest, and so real, and God did it feel real when his tongue slid into my pussy like that. But, Goddamnit, no! How fucking stupid am I to get involved with Hudson Banks of all freaking people! Never mind the past; the fact that he works for my largest campaign contributor, which I’m already going to get shit for sharing the same name with, is another huge blaring warning sign! I can’t even imagine the shit-storm my run would find itself in if the papers got ahold of the juicy tidbit that I was fucking my campaign contributor!

Well, not fucking yet. Yet; which means there’s still time to end this. I can stop this train wreck now right here before it goes any further; before the risk gets any bigger to the campaign, and to me. There’s too much at stake here, and its just not worth it.

Now, if I could just convince myself of that.

“I’m here, I’m sorry Donald.” I let the air out through pursed lips; “Honestly I think I’m just tired and worn out from the day. You guys mind if we break here so I can go take a shower?”

Donald grumbles but nods as I stand; “Just be ready to hit this tomorrow, ok? You’ve got that interview in the morning, the other one later after lunch, and then the gala event with Congressman Kennedy in the evening.”

“I will.” Because tomorrow, I’m nipping this in the bud with Hudson and putting an end to the distractions.

“Ooo! Don’t forget to use that facial scrub I got you! Reagan!” Erika say something else about cucumbers and tea-tree oil as I roll my eyes and leave them in the conference room.

*****

The hotel we’re staying at in Midtown is exactly the kind of campaign expense I don’t particularly enjoy, even though I know it’s all part of the pageantry of the race. I’ve tried to tell Donald a million times that it’s ridiculous for me to be staying here, seeing as I live barely ten blocks away, but he’s insisted that at this point in my campaign, I need a “headquarters”.

Right; what I need is a stiff drink to give me the courage to figure out what I’m going to say to Hudson. I pause for just a second outside his door, almost temped to knock on it and just rip the band-aid off right then, but I stop myself of course. Tightening the fist I was about to pound on his door with, I walk into my own room and close the door mercifully behind me.

I feel a shiver as I strip off my clothes in the bathroom, still feeling the lingering graces of his touch on my body as I turn on the water. I still have no idea what I'm going to say to him, but I'm bracing myself to do it anyways; it’s the only realistic thing to do at this point.

The shower spray is bliss; hot, sudsy, and steamy to the point where I can just let go a little bit and let it all just take me away. So much so, in fact, that I don’t even hear the door to the bathroom open until it shuts, at which point I practically jump out of my skin. My scream freezes in my throat as he yanks the shower curtain back and smirks at me.

"Hudson!" I gasp, my hands clutching at my chest; "What the fuck!"

He grins wickedly and shushes me.

"Are you fucking insane?!" I husk at him, still meekly covering myself with my hands as if he hasn't seen me naked before; as if he hadn't just had his mouth on my pussy barely hours before; "Donald and Erika are in the conference room right down the hall, get out of here!" I hiss at him though clenched teeth.

He smirks at me; "Well I guess that means you'd better keep quiet then."

"Hud-"

He pulls off his towel, and he's rock hard, his erection throbbing as he grins at me and steps into the shower with me.

"Hudson, I-" I can feel my resolve cracking; already forgetting all those poetic words I'd been putting together in my head to tell him why we couldn't continue this exact behavior anymore. He's steps close to me, so close I can feel my own body betraying me; warming, and wanting him nearer still.

"We can't- we can't do this-"

"Reagan," His voice is low and growling; "I'm going to kiss you on the count of five. And if you don't want me to do that, you're going to have to tell me, because after that, you're going to have to stop me."

Goddamnit, why won't he listen to me! I can't do this, as much as every fiber of my being wants  to. He steps closer to me, so close that I can practically feel his skin on mine, though he's still not touching me. The water trickles over his chiseled and inked chest, over the scars and the muscles there.

"Hudson-"

"One."

"Damnit, get out of the shower!" I whisper noncommittally, barely believing the words myself.

"Two."

His hand reaches up and he trails his fingertips across the arm I've still got covering my breasts, making me shiver despite the steam from the shower. But we can not fucking do this! It could ruin the whole campaign and everything that I've worked so hard for.

"Three."

I'm wet; so fucking wet and ready for him that it's making my knees feel week. But we can't-

"Four."

"Hudson, shut up." My resolve crumbles completely and I slide my hands into his hair and kiss him fiercely, as if I'd fly away without my lips on his another second. He growls as his strong arms wrap tightly around me, his hands sliding over my skin and grabbing me as he pulls me tight against his skin. I moan into his mouth, feeling his cock throb hotly pressed between us. His hand slides around over my hip and down between my legs to stroke my clit, and I pull away from his kiss and gasp as I feel him slip his fingers inside of me. I rock against him, whimpering his name as the water cascades over our skin; over his scars and ink and over everything that's ever separated us. I drop my hands to his cock, shuttling my hand up and down his enormous hardness as he curls his fingers inside of me, stroking against that sweet spot. I'm so close as I feel him growl into my neck, and it's taking everything I have not to cry out loud and scream his name as he coaxes me closer and closer to that sweet edge.

He bites my ear lobe between his teeth; "Come for me, Reagan. Come for me right now." When I do scream this time, I muffle it into his shoulder. My whole body shudders against him as my orgasm shatters through me, and I clutch him to me tightly, as if he might float away.

P A S T

It’s the pretending to care that gets old after a while. It’s exhausting really, pretending I’m interested in what they’re saying, or their opinions on the menu, or in them as people when really, I just don’t care. I’m going out with girls because I know I should, and I know it’s something I need to do to get my mind off of her, but it never helps. If anything, it just makes it worse.

A year later, and here I am out with some other redhead who only even vaguely looks like her, who’s chattering at me across the dinner table about - fuck, actually I have no idea. I’m dating because I know a man of my position should be dating cute women in skimpy dresses at fancy restaurants. I mean let’s face it, there’s already enough weird shit about me to make me stand out more than I ever want to; being that weird guy who never goes out or is never seen with a hot girl on his arm is just a reputation I don’t need if I’m trying to blend in.

When I drop her back off at her apartment, she looks at me like I’m completely nuts when I politely decline her invitation to come up for for coffee “and maybe a little cream and sugar”. Besides it being such an over-the-top line, I’m just not interested. I mean shit, the old me would’ve had her dress off halfway up the stairs; hell, the old me would’ve probably fucked her in the bathroom of that 5-star restaurant. But the new me feels pulled in too many directions, and is hounded by to many demons, and is haunted by the memory of the one perfect girl who no one is ever going to replace.

And as I roar away from the redhead’s apartment, I wonder just how in the hell I’m ever going to get Reagan Archer out of my fucking head.

P R E S E N T

We’re giggling like fucking teenager as we stumble out of the shower, barely toweled off and leaving wet footprints across the carpet. She pushes me back in this big stuffed chair by the window of her room, and before I know it, she’s kneeling at my feet. When her lips wrap around my cock, it’s fucking miles better than every single one of the multitude of fantasies I’ve had of this exact moment. Her tongue slides across the underside of me as she begins to gently suck, and I’m just done. I’m gasping for breath with my hands running through her long red hair as she moans and swirls her tongue around me. When I warn her, she only moans louder and sucks me deeper, and I explode inside her mouth as I gasp out her name.

She giggles as she pulls away, wiping her mouth in this way that would look just plain slutty with literally any other girl in the world but her; on her it just looks incredible. She smiles shyly up at me as I try to form words though the fog in my head. Our eyes meet and then I’m pulling her up into my lap and kissing her neck and feeling her whimper softly into my ear.

“You trying to kill me, Red?” I growl, nipping at her earlobe and loving the way it makes her gasp.

“No but I’m starting to see the appeal all those other girls found in you.”

She’s giggling, teasing me, and I groan as bring her lips to mine; “there are no other girls but you, you know that right?” She’s kissing me, and then as her hand drops to my lap she stats to giggle again

“Oh my God-“

“What?”

She laughs- the sound so fucking beautiful and musical; “Hudson-“ Her eyes are wide and her cheeks are blushing bright red as she nods at my cock, standing straight up between us; “You’re still, um-“ She’s trails off, and I shrug, not being able to help but add in a smug smirk at the fact that I’m still hard. Reagan bites her lip; “Do you- um, do you have one?”

Fuck. Of course I don’t. The old me had them stuffed into every pocket I owned, but of the course the second the new me needs one more than a dying man needs water in the desert, I’m without. She sees the hesitation on my face and smirks as she reaches for her purse on the table next to us; rummaging around before coming out with a little foil packet in her hand and an adorable pink glow to her cheeks. I raise my eyebrows teasingly and she rolls her eyes; “You should probably check and make sure it isn’t expired.”

She’s grinning at me as our eyes meet, and I feel so fucking close to this girl without even being inside her that it practically knocks the wind out of me. I’m not used to feeling this emotionally exposed with someone; this naked. In fact, even with all the women before, I’m fairy certain in that moment that I’ve never felt quite like this before; the sobering epiphany hits me that this is what making love feels like. She looks at me, so innocently, and so full of need that I’m suddenly terrified of shattering everything that she with the burden of what I carry.

“Reagan, you know we don’t have to do thi-“

“Hudson will you shut up and fuck me already?” She leans down and kisses me, sucking my lip between her teeth, and that pushes me right over the edge.

I tear open the packet and roll the condom down over my length before my hands are grabbing her ass and moving her up to my tip as she squeals. And then I’m feeling her slide down on to me, and it’s like heaven and I could die right here. She’s like warm silk around me as we move together like the movement of an ocean; rocking together like a tide upon a shore. I’m gentle at first, but the way she starts to dig her fingernails into my shoulders and the way she bounces up and down my length making these sexy as hell little cooing sounds has me grabbing her harder and pumping my hips to met hers. She grinding against me and whimpering as my hands grab the soft skin of her ass hard enough to leave marks as I start to fuck her hard. I can feel her tightening around me, her muscles clutching at me and her mouth hanging open as I kiss her and then slide my lips to ear; “Come for me, Reagan; fucking come for me right now.” I muffle her screams with my mouth this time as she goes to pieces around me, and its more than I can take. I see stars as I roar my release into her kiss and explode inside of her.

When we’ve caught our escaping breaths and racing hearts and moved to the bed, I’m curled up next to her. And for the first time in maybe ever, I’m not counting down the seconds until I can leave.

She yawns into my chest as she snuggles against me, worming her way deeper into my arms; “We shouldn’t fall asleep like this” she says sleepily.

I nod, feeling my own eyelids weighting heavily down; “Definitely not.”

I can feel her her lips smiling against my skin; “But Hudson, would it really be so bad if…”

I’m waiting for a full five seconds for her to finish her sentence until I grin as I hear the soft rhythmic breathing of her sleep. Before I can even convince myself to stop, I’m holding her tightly against my body as I let sleep take me under, and for the first since longer than I can honestly remember, I don’t dream at all.

And it’s wonderful.

P A S T

I quietly hang up the phone and stare at the wall of my apartment for a second before I let the air out in a slow stream. The empty, sort of blank feeling inside is weird, especially since I know I should be feeling something much more right now. When your friend calls to tell you that your boyfriend’s been cheating on you, there’s a certain way you’re supposed to feel and react.

Except, I just don’t.

And a lot of that might be because there wasn’t exactly a whole lot there anyways with Chet. He was more like a companion, and kind of an annoying one at that than any sort of romantic role. Movies are full of dramatic encounters and fiery kisses and unbridled passion, and I know that’s all Hollywood bullshit, but I also know that I’ve seen that sort of passion. I’ve felt it, if only once and if only for one brief kiss, but that one kiss with him is better and more memorable than anything I’ve known since.

So, no, I’m not mad that Chet’s apparently been fucking one of his interns, I’m just sort of sad, I guess.

I open my phone, and almost like second nature, I’m scrolling down through my contacts until I see Hudson’s number there on my screen. It’s right where it’s been for over a year now, sitting there in front of my face with my thumb hanging half an inch above it but never actually touching it and actually going through with calling him. I don’t even know what the hell I’d say to him at this point, even though for a while I was so mad I even wrote down all the poisonous vitriol I wanted to hurl at him. But now- now it just seems like a faded and sad dream.

Wow, look at me. I’ve just been cheated on and dumped by my boyfriend, but all I can think about is the man who broke my heart a full year ago. I take a deep breath and look at the number once more, and I know it’s time; I know it’s time to let him go. I slide my thumb across his number, and before I can stop myself, I’m hitting the little red “x” there to delete the contact. And just like that, he’s gone.

P R E S E N T

There’s the usual fog that accompanies waking up when I first open my eyes, and as sunlight glows around the drawn curtains, I find myself lazily stretching as I yawn and roll over - right into Hudson. Suddenly I’m wide awake and panicking, and I jump out of bed and back away from it, as if being near him somehow makes it more real and more than I can handle right now. Holy shit, I slept with Hudson. My hand flies to my mouth as my eyes go wide, suddenly thinking of all the repercussions that could come of this; my campaign, the funding from Archer Holdings; God, the media if they got ahold of this?

I realize I’m pacing and chewing at my cuticles again, and I force myself to stop as I turn and look at him, still sleeping heavily in bed. The covers are pulled most of the way down on his torso as he lies on his stomach, and my eyes trace over the inked and scared skin there; his back rising and falling slowly with his breathing. A flush creeps into my face as I think about last night with him, and how freaking incredible he felt in that first delicious moment of penetration. There’s a feeling of stinging guilt that I’m standing here regretting last night while I stare at the man that’s made me happier in one night than I’ve felt in a long time. But then the panic hits me again; fuck, I mean what if somebody heard us? My face gets hot as I try and think how loud I might have gotten the previous night. Or what if someone puts two-and-two together when they see that Hudson's bedroom door is wide open and his bed still made?

He stirs in the bed suddenly as he begins to wake up, and for some bizarre reason I’m suddenly keenly aware and awkward about the fact that I’m standing there naked, despite what happened the previous night. I grab the first thing I see - his dress shirt - and throw it on; quickly buttoning it as he opens his eyes and starts to sit up in bed.

“Morning,” He grins at me, blinking sleep from his eyes. God he looks incredible sitting in my bed like that; so peaceful, so naked, and so - I flush - so hard. He arches a brow at me and then smirks as he nods to the sizable tent in the sheet in his lap; “You know, as good as you look right now in that shirt, I think you should probably take it off and come back to bed, darlin.” And for a moment, doing just that sounds like the most amazing thing in the world.

…That is, until there’s a startling knock on my door and Erika’s chipper, annoying voice hollering through about the interview I need to to be ready to leave for in thirty minutes. And just like that, the fantasy of curling up with Hudson and letting the world just float away without us is shattered as the very real reality hits me like a ton of bricks.

“You need to get out of here!” I hiss at him, feeling panicked as I throw his pants at him.

His grin falters as his brow furrows; “Relax, Rea-“

“I can’t relax, Hudson; don’t fucking tell me to rela-“

“Reagan, it’s just one fucking interview for what, some stupid NYU school paper?” He’s sitting up on the edge of the bed while I run around the room like a crazy person trying to hide the signs of the previous night as I yank on my black dress pants and hunt around for a clean blouse; “Look just skip it.”

I whirl on him, feeling furious that he’s just sitting there while I’m in panic mode; “Because that would be stupid and a big mistake.”

He rolls his eyes; “Oh, please, a big mista-“

“Kind of like last night.”

He freezes, his eyes narrowing at me as a shadow passes over his face. I cringe, instantly feeling like a total crazy bitch for letting it slip out like that; “Shit, Hudson, I didn’t mean it like-“

“No, forget it, you’re right.” He’s up and yanking his pants on with his back to me, and my heart drops as I realize the fantasy veil of last night has completed dropped and we’re standing in the naked reality of today.

“Mistakes happen, right?” He shrugs and flashes a thin smile at me, and right there I see his armor go right back up.

“You should get to that interview, I’ll- I need to-“ He’s at the door, opening it slowly as he peaks out and checks the hallway; “I’ve got some shit to do anyways.” He turns and looks at me cooly; “Don’t worry, we’ll pretend this whole little mistake never happened.”

And just like that, he’s slamming the door behind him and slamming the chapter shut on whatever happened last night.

Fuck.

*****

I subtly peep under the table at the phone I’ve ever-so-secretly slipped out of my purse. There are plenty of messages of course, but I frown when I see that his number isn’t among them. Part of me hoped he’d still just show up at my first interview today, but he never did.

“Oh, stop it, Ray!”

I glance up, trying to look as innocent as possible as Quinn glares at me from across the diner table, even though I know she’s busted me; “What?” Leave it to family to totally burst your bubble on feeling subtle or sneaky.

“We said no phones! That’s what!”

I roll my eyes, “Quinn, you do know I’m running for State Sen-“

“Yeah and when you win, you’ll have even less time for your boring, non-famous sisters.” Chelsea butts in.

Ten minutes; we’ve been sitting at lunch for ten minutes and they’re already ganging up on me. I sigh dramatically as I slip the phone back in my bag and sling it over my chair; “Fiiiine. So what should we talk about?”

“How about the fact that you’re a major political figure and you’re still dragging us to shitty brunch diners like this place.” Quinn says, wrinkling her noes at the plain white cup of coffee in front of her.

“Hey, this place is an institution, you know. Plus it’s freaking delicious; I’d eat here every day if it wouldn’t give Donald and Erika conniptions.”

“And what would Hudson think?”

Chelsea’s snarky grin catches me off-guard, and I stumble; “W-What do you mean?”

“I mean about you eating pancakes and scrambled cheesy eggs every day.”

I shrug as nonchalantly as I can; “I’m sure I’ve got no idea what he thinks about anything.”

Like, me, for instance.

Quinn grins at me, and I steel myself, afraid she’ll sniff out what I’m really thinking about him like some sort of sex-bloodhound; “So how is spending all that time with Hotsun going, anyways?”

I groan; “Qui-“

“What?! Have you fucking seen him!” She says with mock indignance; “He’s like-“

“Packaged sex.” Chelsea butts in, making the two of them devolve into giggles and my face into total guilty embarrassment.

“Guys, he’s not-“

“Oh my God, Ray, why are you fighting her on that? She’s totally right and you know it. Hudson is like, James Bond, but with super hot tattoos and a body off the cover of a romance novel.” She arches her eyebrows at me; “Hey, I mean if you don’t want that, I mean I’m single-“

“Quinn I think you stole quite enough boyfriends from me in high school.”

They both immediately beam at me as I realize my slip-up and die a little inside.

“Oh. My. God.” Quinn’s jaw drops.

“Guys, no, that is not what I-“

“No fucking way!” Chelsea stares at me with a grin on her face. She and Liz turn towards each other and start giggling again.

“Wait, no, it is not like- stop that!” People are starting to turn and look our way, and even in this greasy little diner in midtown, I know it’s a matter of time before someone realizes who I am and starts to get really interested in what we’re talking about so animatedly.

“Guys, seriously!” I hiss; “Keep it down!”

Chelsea is beaming at me; “Hudson fucking Banks?”

“I think it’s more ‘Hudson fucking our sister’, actually.” Quinn quips, with the predicted giggle from Chelsea and the deeper shade of red on my face.

I shake my head much to animatedly; “No way, of course not, he’s horrible.”

Quinn shrugs; “Well, I mean he’s crude I guess, but horrible?”

“Ugh! He’s one of Dad’s thugs!” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more, me or them.

“So?” Chelsea shrugs; “Ok, he worked for Dad; big deal. It’s not like he’s our brother or something.”

I make a face into my coffee; “Eww?”

Chelsea sighs; “No, I just mean what would be so weird about hooking up with Hudson?”

“Um, because besides that, how about the fact that Dad ditched us for him and his other adopt-a-veteran pals all the fucking time?”

Chelsea looks quickly down and Liz shakes her head at me; “You need to let that one go sometime, Ray. You know Dad had his reasons for-“

“Ok, fine, whatever.” Not the conversation I want have in the middle of a political campaign sitting in a diner.

We sit in silence for another moment before I open my mouth again; “Ok, how about that he’s technically my campaign financier? Hello? Conflict of interest much?”

Quinn shrugs; “Archer Holdings is your campaign financier, not Hudson. So what’s the harm?”

I slam the coffee cup down harder than I intend, spilling the lukewarm liquid onto the countertop; “Because I feel like an idiot for sleeping with him after what happened at Dad’s wak-“

I freeze and clasp my hands to my mouth as the whole table goes silent, my sisters staring at me with open mouths.

Oh, fuck.

“Wait, what? You did sleep with him?!” Chelsea is wide-eyed and grinning at me.

“You hussy!” Quinn clucks her teeth like a mother hen; “And oh my God; what did you do get up to at a wake?!”

And it’s right there, with room-temperature coffee all over my hands, sitting in a crappy little midtown diner in the middle of the afternoon that I start to cry. Quinn immediately changes her whole tune as she jumps out the booth and crams in on my side, her arms going around me as the tears and the sniffles come pouring out of me.

“Hey, hey now Ray.”

“I’m horrible!” I moan into my hands, feeling Quinn’s arms tighten around me.

“No, hon, you’re not.”

“But at Dad’s fucking funer-“

“You were emotional and lost, and you needed something to grab onto; and he was there.” She nuzzles my hair like she used to do when we were kids; “That’s not being horrible, Ray, that’s just being human.” She says softly.

Chelsea reaches across the table and takes one of my hands, patting it dry of coffee as I look up at her miserably; “And Hudson isn’t so terrible you know.”

“I know,” I sniff.

Quinn leans down to peer into my face with that wicked grin back on her face; “So, you slept with him, huh?”

I feel a horrible mixture of relief and embarrassment and sadness wash over me at the way things got left this morning with him, especially with the previous night being so incredible, and I nod quietly.

Quinn chuckles; “So was it good?”

“Of course it was good, or she wouldn’t be so upset right now!” Chelsea says as she squeezes my hands, and I giggle in spite of myself.

“Oh, ok, details, now.”

I laugh again and roll my eyes; “Quinn!” Chelsea throws a balled-up napkin at our older sister, and then we’re all laughing, and I can already feel the weight lifting from my shoulders.

Suddenly though, Quinn turns and looks at me skeptically; “Hang on.” She bites her lip; “No, forget it.”

“Gah! Quinn! What?” I say, wiping my eyes on her arm.

She gives me a look a the mascara marks I leave on her sweater before she shakes her head; “No, it’s just- I don’t know, you’ve just never really struck me as the casual hook-up type, that’s all.”

I frown; “What do you mean?”

She frowns; “I mean with Hudson,” She shrugs; “Hey I guess the campaign really is good at getting you out of your comfort zo- Oh fuck, honey-”

My face starts to crumble again, and Chelsea reaches across the table to smack Quinn’s hand.

“Soooo…not necessarily a casual thing.”

I dump my head in my hands; “I don’t know! No? Maybe?” Ugh; I fucking hate crying like this over some guy like some sort of movie cliche. But damnit if Hudson hasn’t wormed right under my skin.

“It’s complicated, I guess.”

Chelsea smirks at me; “Ray, your whole life is complicated; maybe you need a little simplicity.”

I exhale loudly; “I should let the whole thing go, shouldn’t I?”

My younger, somehow far wiser sister grins at me as she squeezes my hand; “No, I’m saying you clearly have a lot more feelings about Hudson than I think you’re even admitting to yourself, and like always, you’re over-thinking it.”

“So-“

“So you like him, and I’m betting he likes you. So just tell him, Reagan.” Quinn says.

Across the table, Chelsea nods and shrugs; “Try simple for change, Ray.”

P R E S E N T

I end up getting a grand total of two jabs into my warm-up before I throw off my gloves with a snarl and head for the shower. There’s a brief hesitation right before I step under the spray; as if a tiny part of me is reluctant to wash the smell and the feel and the memory of her off of my skin.

‘A big mistake…kind of like last night.’

I step under the water and slam the shower-door shut.

*****

I don’t know why or even how I find myself at the cable network building where her second interview of the day is being filmed, but fuck it, I’m there. That’s what’s so twisted about this whole Reagan situation; I don’t want to be around her, but apparently I can’t seem to stay away either. The interview has already started as I stand just outside the light behind the cameras off-stage, watching her and trying not to let the fact that she’s laughing and smiling and just plain gorgeous get under my skin so much.

“Hey babe.” Samantha’s voice slithers into my ear as she comes up behind me and wraps her arms around me, as if we’ve even met more than three times.

“What are you doing here, Sam?” I hiss at her quietly, though not quietly enough to avoid getting an evil look from one of the stage managers. Is this girl following me or something?

She slaps my chest playfully and rolls her eyes, as if I’ve just said a joke of some kind; “Uh, because I intern for the Archer campaign? Duh?”

Oh fuck. Reagan’s immediately furious reaction to my having Samantha on my arm before suddenly makes way more sense; because she’s a campaign intern, kind of like the type of campaign intern that she broke up with that idiot Chet for fucking. The pieces slide a bit more together and I cringe as I think about it.

She answers a question with a line I don’t hear but that makes the older news anchor chuckle. But then as she looks up with a smile on her face, she suddenly sees me standing there behind the cameras with Samantha hanging off my arm, and her smile fades instantly. She’s glaring at me, so much so that I even see the stage manager signal for another camera angle. There’s a bit of smug satisfaction with seeing her jealous like that, but it’s an empty victory considering the way shit went down this morning and the two pieces I’ve just put together, and I can’t even find a crumb of victory in it.

The interview ends, and I finally get Samantha to get off my arm by promising to call her later even though I’ve certainly never saved her number anywhere. I almost want to smile at the predictability of Reagan marching right up to me after she yanks off her microphone, but I keep it under wraps at the look in her face.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” Her eyes flash past me at Sam walking away behind me and her eyes narrow a little’ “So how’s Sam?”

I reach out and put my hand on her arm; “Calm down, it’s not what it looks-“

“Don’t tell me to-“ She stops and takes a deep breath; “Hudson I don’t care,” She shrugs my hand off and takes one small and yet infinitely giant step back; “We’re both adults here, you can do whatever you want.”

I take a step towards her, my voice low and growling; “You know what I want.”

She opens her mouth but then shuts it abruptly as she nods towards the sound of Samantha giggling obnoxiously at something across the room; “Yeah, I guess I do. Have fun, Hudson.”

*****

I feel like a fucking idiot when I knock on her door, about to escort her to fucking Chet Kennedy’s “gala” event; whatever the fuck that is. I’m literally driving the girl I can’t get out of my fucking head into the arms of her shitty ex-boyfriend. The old Hudson would have punched this Hudson in the nuts and told him to sack up.

She opens the door though, and any and all rational though just flushes right out of my mind as I stare at her. She looks stunning. I mean, she always looks amazing, but the short, slinky, form-fitting little black dress she’s wearing is like a punch right to my gut, and I find myself just opening and closing my mouth as I let my eyes roam over her. And then of course the thought hits me that she isn’t wearing this for me, and I frown.

“Well?”

Her voice startles me out of my freeze and I jerk my head up; “Jesus, why are you wearing that?” I immediately cringe; Nice man, nice.

Her lip curls into a snarl; “Well fuck you too, Hudson.”

“No, I mean -  isn’t this a formal-“

“It’s black tie, black cocktail dress; isn’t that your circle of things?”

Yeah, hardly.

“I’m just saying you look nice.”

“Gee, thanks. Funny way of showing it.”

I roll my eyes; “Listen, Ray-

“Can we go please?” She looks at me sharply; “I’ve got a date waiting for me.”

I freeze; “Excuse me?”

She taps her heeled foot on the ground; “I said can we go.”

“You know what I mean, that second fucking part.” I growl.

She smiles at me, as if she know’s she’s just scored a hit on me; “My date, Hudson. Chet’s waiting for me.”

I can feel my blood pressure jump through my skull as I grind my teeth and clench my fists. I know exactly what she’s doing, but the shittiest part is, it’s working.

“You’re dating Chet again?”

She shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world; like last night never happened. I can still imagine the way her lips felt wrapping around my cock, or the way her hair smelled and the way her skin felt so warm and alive when she slid down onto me. I’m instantly thinking how it incredible she felt rocking up and down on top of me, and the sounds of her cries as she came. And suddenly, I’m rock-hard inside my pants, which is throughly confusing with the angry scowl she’s giving me in our current situation. All I want to do is kiss her hard right here in the doorway. I want to shove her up against the door, lift up that teeny little black dress she’s wearing and remind her exactly how good last night felt since she’s clearly pretending to have forgotten.

“Reagan can we just fucking talk about this like adults instead of acting like children?”

She stares daggers into my eyes; “I am acting like an adult, Hudson. Now can we please go so I can get on with being an adult with my date?”

Chet, who I get to fucking drive her to. Who I get to watch her moon over all night at this stupid fucking ‘gala’ while everyone fawns over the two of them and takes their pictures and tells them what an incredible ‘power-couple’ they are. In recovery and in the program, they talk about “relapse triggers” like  “feelings of frustration”, or “expecting too much of other people”. If you can ball every single one of those triggers into one damn thing, it’s called “Chet Kennedy’s stupid fucking gala event that I have to take Reagan to.”

I’m furious; raging inside like a bomb about to explode. But I swallow it, all of it, as I look at her sharply; “Fine. Let’s go.”

This is fucking ridiculous.

P A S T

“Hang on, are you serious?” Quinn glances at Chelsea, and they both tun to look at me skeptically.

“Yeah, I’m serious.” I roll my eyes at them, “What, you don’t think I can do it?”

“Oh, no, it’s not that Ray!” Chelsea says quickly, shaking her head; “It’s just, uh, I mean it’s just that you’re-“

“You’re twenty-two, Reagan.” Quinn says evenly, frowning slightly.

“So?”

She rolls her eyes; “Ok, you’re twenty-two, and you have zero political experience. That might be a problem here.”

“Quinn, I do have a degree in political science, and I’ve spent the last two years working with Chet on his campaign stuff.”

Quinn snorts and Chelsea opens and closes her mouth quickly as if she’s trying to figure out what to say to that.

“OK, OK, laugh it up, I know. Chet’s…Chet, but the experience with the campaign is real, guys. It - I don’t know - it got me moving and got me thinking about stuff like I never have.”

“But Ray, the Senate?” Chelsea looks worried.

“State Senate, but yeah.” I shrug; “If you’re gonna dream, dream big right?”

Quinn grins; “You’re actually going to do this, aren’t you?” I nod and she rolls her eyes; “You’re fucking insane, you know that right?”

“Well, with endorsements like that!” Chelsea laughs and turns to look at me; “So when do we start?”

PRESENT

“So I told you about getting my amateur pilot’s license, right?” I raise my eyebrows towards Chet, nodding as I plaster a dopey, fake smile across my face. I’m not really listening to a word he says though, since I’m concentrating on not looking at the scowling  Hudson standing right there with us. Hudson who’s alternating between rolling his eyes at practically everything Chet says and glowering at me every time I very purposely laugh at it.

I might be laughing on the outside, but inside I’m scowling just as hard as he is now; I mean where the fuck does he get off being so possessively alpha about me talking with Chet when he’s the one that had Samantha and her tits hanging off of him barely hours after we’d slept together. It’s classic fucking Hudson, I grumble inside. But if anything, I’m more scared than pissed, as much as I don’t want to admit it. In fact, I’m doing my damnedest to ignore it, since I’m scared what me being jealous of Hudson with another girl really means, especially after what I talked about with Quinn and Chelsea.

“So what do you think, Hud?” Chet’s nodding his head and wagging his eyebrows at Hudson, who’s piercing scowl and pointed silence he seems to be oblivious of; “Pretty soon you and I can get up there together and do a little ace piloting, huh Iceman?”

“Why would I do that.” There’s almost a humor in the way Hudson does nothing to hide the disdain in his voice or the plaintive ‘I don’t fucking care’ look on his face when he speaks to Chet, but I bury that humor with a scowl instead.

Chet sighs dramatically; “Well hell man! I thought they taught you guys how to fly planes in the Air Force!”

Hudson’s eyes narrow at Chet; “I’m sure they do teach people to fly planes in the Air Force,” He says, his voice icy.

Chet snaps his fingers and shakes his head; “Right, right! Ranger, right?”

Hudson’s fist clenches at his side; “Marine.”

“Ahhh, well, I was close!”

Hudson’s eyes very plainly say “no, you weren’t” but he mercifully keeps his mouth shut. Unfortunately, Chet doesn’t; “Well you’ve still got planes with the Marines, right? Don’t they take you up in them to to get pushed out or something?” He chuckles and I see Hudson’s jaw tighten; “I thought that was your guys’ thing!”

Hudson smiles broadly at Chet, his eyes like a shark’s; “Oh it is! I’d be happy to show you sometime if you wan-“

“Don’t you have some other place to be,” I hiss at him.

“Whatever you say, Princess,” he mutters sarcastically to me, and I jump as I feel his hand quickly swat at my butt behind me where Chet can’t see. He narrows his eyes like he’s about to say something to me, but he turns sharply on his heel and walks away instead, without another word to either of us.

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry about that.” I shrug and try to smile at Chet’s smirking face; “He gets-“ He gets, what, possessive? Dominant? My body hotter and my pussy wetter than anything I’ve ever felt before? “He gets feisty sometimes.” Feisty, right. My mind is instantly flooded with thoughts of just how “feisty” he got the other night when his hands were on my ass, bouncing me up and down his cock. I swallow hastily, trying to force the flush from my face.

Chet just chuckles in this effected, eye-rolling way as he sips the martini in his hand; “Oh, he’s just looking out for you.” He arches a brow at me, giving me what I’m sure he believes is his most charming smile; “Can’t say I blame the guy; if I had my way, I’d be looking all over you too.” The thought of Chet looking at me anywhere close to the way Hudson does makes me nauseous, but I smile at him anyways as if I totally get what he’s saying.

“Say, you know speaking of which, I’ve been thinking a lot, Reagan.” Fuck; I think I know exactly where this conversation is headed, and it’s not one I really ever need to have with him.

“Chet, I-“

“No, now hang on now, Ray,” He puts his arm around my shoulders, and if we weren't surrounded by people and press, I’d already be pushing him off me and telling him where to stick it. But I know I’m supposed to behave myself, and after the near miss disaster of being found with Hudson in my damn bedroom, I feel like playing by the rules might be a good thing.

“You know-“ Chet looks around before he leans close, “Can we talk somewhere a bit more private?”

I don’t even know what to say as he’s suddenly leading me to the side of the large ballroom and down a darkened hallway away from the crowds and music.

“Chet where are we goin-“

“Ray, baby, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry you had to find out about that; before I mean, about me and that staffer.”

I stare at him incredulously; “Wait, that’s your apology?” I almost want to laugh at how insanely cliche this guy is; “You’re sorry that I found out? Not that you were fucking one of your interns like some sort of politician cliche out of a movie-script?”

Chet smiles and nods his head patronizingly at me; “Now, let’s not be crude, Reagan. You know these sort of relationships sometimes just happen in politics.”

I roll my eyes; “No, Chet, I don’t know that.” But I’m also done having this conversation, and I just shake my head; “You know what, fine; apology accepted.” I turn to leave, when I feel his hand grab my arm, tightly.

“Oh I’m so glad, Reagan.” He’s grinning that smarmy smile at me again, and I’m suddenly on edge; “I think we’re going to have a lot more luck the second time, I can feel it.” And then before I know what’s happening, he’s yanking me towards him and trying to kiss me.

I sputter and push away from him; “Chet!” I can feel my pulse racing, roaring in my ears like an engine as the adrenaline spikes; “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He’s still holding my arm, and he chuckles; “Oh, comon babe, don’t tell me you haven’t missed a little of the ole’ Chet magic.” I open my mouth to say something but he just keeps going; “You remember, Reagan, just like the old times huh?” He’s pressing me back against the wall behind me, and I’m feeling every inch of my skin crawl as my throat freezes up. He leans close, running his hand up the front of my dress and making me cringe in revulsion; “You look so tense, bab-“

In the blink of an eye, his arm is suddenly getting wrenched away from me and behind his back. There’s a snapping sound, and he’s screaming. Hudson - Hudson - snarls like fucking wild animal as he brings his fist crashing down across Chet’s face, sending blood splattering from his nose as he cries out and drops to his knees on the ground. He’s holding his face and staring up at the utterly ferocious looking Hudson, and he’s screeching as Hudson’s fist crashes into his face again.

And then I’m yelling - screaming even - and suddenly there’s the sounds of running footsteps as security comes thundering around the corner. Hudson snarls as two of them grab his arms; "Not me, you fucking idiots," He spits out, nodding towards the sniveling Congressmen on the ground cradling his limp arm as the blood pours down his face. I can barely nod as they look at me for verification, feeling as though I’m moving in slow motion as Hudson shakes them free and jerks his head around to stare at me.

“Are you ok?”

“I- I-“ I’m stammering, my mouth opening and closing without words.

“Reagan.”

Hudson’s voice is sharp, and I jerk my head to stare at him; “What?”

“Are you hurt.”

I shake my head quietly; “No.”

“Then lets go, now.”

It’s not until we’re outside that the shock really hits me, and suddenly I find myself angry, and I’m angry at Hudson for some reason. I’m angry that I needed rescuing; that somehow I need him at all. We’re right by his car when I shake my hand out of his and stop suddenly in my tracks. Hudson turns to me and I suddenly snap; “I don’t need rescuing you know.”

He frowns; “Could’ve fooled me, Princess.”

I narrow my eyes at him; “I mean in general, I don’t need you saving me or anything. I mean I’m the normal one here, Hudson; you’re the one with all the baggage that needs rescuing.”

He looks at me cooly as he steps closer to me; “Is that a fact? You think I need rescuing?”

I purse my lips and frown, crossing my arms over my chest; “M-hmm.” And then he’s right in front of me, and I can feel my own body betray me at his proximity; my pulse starting to race and my breath coming quicker.

“You know,” he growls, smirking that smug smile as he leans so close to my face that our lips are almost touching; “We’d probably get along better if you’d just stop pretending you don’t want me.”

“You’re fucking delusional, I don’t want you at all,” I sneer at him, knowing how totally unconvincing that sounds and feeling more like I’m trying to convince myself than him.

“Oh, so its Chet you want in there? Is that it?”

“Shut up, you don’t know what I want, Hudson.” His eyes flash at me, and he’s so close to me that I could just breath and kiss him.

“Yes I do.” He growls lowly, his eyes flashing at me, and I gasp as he takes my hand and places it against the front of his pants. He’s rock hard inside, and I can feel my own body throb with desire as I feel how aroused he is for me. And I know he’s right, too; I know he sees right through my bullshit and little bratty outburst and sees exactly what I want.

The side door to the museum slams open and Donald comes huffing out, looking furious and red in the face as he starts to scream something at Hudson.

“Get in the fucking car, Archer.” He whispers into my ear, sending a shiver right through me and making me tingle somewhere deep inside.

“Fine” I spit out, as if I’m letting him take me away, even though its the only thing in the world I want in that moment.

P A S T

I duck and weave, dancing back to try and avoid Logan's hook, but I of course catch it in the side anyways. I can feel the sweat stinging my eyes, and my shoulder’s throbbing in that way that I know I should give it a rest, but I know I won’t. I also know that Logan's going to beat me like he does every time we box like this, but that doesn’t stop me from putting up a fight anyways. That’s pretty much the first thing he taught after showing me how to lace up the gloves; always put up a fight.

I swing wildly, feeling fatigued to the point of sloppiness as I swing through air where his face used to be. He’s grinning at me, looking like he’s barely out of breath as he skips away before ducking back in to land another hit against my jaw.

“You wanna yield?” He’s taunting me, and we both know it. We also both know these little bouts of ours only end when I can’t physically lift my arm anymore or when I hit the ground too many times.

“Getting tired old man?” I grin at him, knowing this gets right under his skin; “I mean thirty’s creeping up there buddy, I can let you go take a breather if you wan-“ I see fucking stars as his glove catches me right above the left eye, and then the world is spinning as I land on my back on the floor of the ring.

Bryce taps the bell, shaking his head as I turn to shake my head at him; “Nope, fuck off Hudson, I’m calling it.”

“Aww comon man! I had him!”

Logan snorts as he bends down to give me a hand up; “Oh, definitely, Hud. Closest one yet.”

“Dick.”

He grins at me; “Hey, someday you might even land a punch on me, which’ll be the surprise of the century.”

I’m swatting at him with my glove when Bryce swears under his breath; “I got one better for you.”

I glance over at him, hunched over his laptop screen with his jaw hanging open and furrow my brow; “What?” He’s slowly shaking  his head, his eyes skimming whatever he’s reading. “Dude, what?”

Bryce raises his head to look at us with a crooked grin on his face; “Reagan Archer just announced her candidacy for New York State Senate.”

Well, huh.

P R E S E N T

“Where the fuck are we going?”

I grit my teeth and try to stop myself from saying anything; from telling her she’s being a brat, from telling her I’m sick of this bullshit - hell, from telling her all the shit I’m dying to tell her if I could only figure out how.

“Hudson!” She’s yelling now; “You can’t just fucking kidnap me you know. Aren’t you Mr. ‘Low-Profile’? I’m pretty sure kidnapping Legislative candidates gets you high-profile faster than you can-“

“Will you shut up?” I finally bark at her, my hands gripping the wheel tight as we screech around a corner, narrowly missing some idiot hipster out riding a fixie bicycle in the fucking snow.

“We’re going to my place.”

She frowns; “Why, you’ve never taken me to your place bef-“

“Because it’s safe there, that’s why.” I turn and stare at her, our eyes meeting with a sort of burning spark that keeps me looking at her for far longer than I should considering I’m driving a damn car. I tear my gaze away and accelerate around a taxi.

“Is it?” She says quietly, and when I turn back this time, her look is hungrier; more naked.

I turn back to the road, and without warning I slide my hand up high on her thigh. I can hear her breath catch, and feel the thrum of her pulse hot under her skin.

“Don’t you dare think you’re going to-“

Her words end in a gasp as I slide my hand right up under her dress to the heated and damp fabric of her panties and I grin; “Ahh, yeah, you don’t want me at all, right?”

She bites her lip and shakes her; “Mm-mm, nope; not at all.”

I gun the engine, letting the horses fucking rip under the hood as I stroke my finger up over her panties; tracing her sex through the wet material and relishing in the quiet moan she valiantly tries but ultimately fails to swallow. We’re speeding through streets now, the engine roaring as I dodge cars and blow through lights. My finger slides beneath the side of her panties and strokes her lips, and she rocks her hips towards me.

“Still sure you don’t want me?”

“Definitely,” she gasps, her breathing coming ragged as I stroke my finger through her wetness and roll my thumb over her clit. She drops her head back and willing spreads her legs wider, and I know I’ve got her close as I roar around another corner.

“Oh, well that’s good then, because we’re here.”

I screech the car to a purr in front of my building and withdraw my fingers from her panties. She whirls to stare at me, and the look she gives me as her jaw drops is pure, undiluted frustration, and I love it.

“Better cover up, Senator,” I say with a shit-eating grin as I nod towards the approaching valet. Reagan scrambles to pull her skirt back down, shooting daggers at me as I chuckle and step out of the car. I toss the keys to Richard, the valet, outside my building and usher the fuming Reagan through the front door. The brusqueness is to minimize the exposer to possible photographers who might see where she’s headed, but also because I’ve got this insane need to be alone with her as quickly as fucking possible. I hurry us across the glossy marble floor of my lobby and yank her into one of the ultra-modern glass and metal elevators. Reagan’s skirt is riding high on her thigh, and as the doors close, she starts to smooth the material down.

“Stop it.”

She pauses, and looks at me sharply; “Excuse me?”

“I said leave it. Don’t smooth it down.”

“You can’t just order me around like some sort of Lord of a castle you know,” She says tightly. But she blushes, and she doesn’t pull on the skirt anymore.

The doors close, and it’s like the final stroke; the final straw on the back. They’ve barely shut before I’ve turned and pushed her up agains the glass wall of the elevator, my lips devouring hers as she moans into mine. The elevator begins to rise out of the bank, and as it does so, the view behind the glass surrounding us changes to the bright lights of the city. I grab her wrists and shove them against the wall, growling into her as I move my lips to nip at her earlobe.

“Hudson, stop-“

“Lift up your dress.” I tell her, my voice commanding as I move back up to kiss her hard; crushing her lips with mine.

She gasps as she pulls away; “No-“ Her eyes dart to the glass walls and the neon city-scape slowly dropping away behind her; “People might see-“

“No one’s going to see.”

I see her hesitate, and I whirl around and hit the emergency stop button on the elevator, making her gasp; “Are you fucking kidding m-“

“I own the building,” I growl, before turning back, grabbing her by the wrists, and pushing her firmly back against the glass. My lips are barely touching hers, and I hear her moan every so softly; “Now lift up your fucking dress.”

I drop one of her arms, and she reaches down without hesitation and grabs the hem of her skirt. She’s pulling it up, and I can feel my cock throb as her clearly wet thong panties come into view. I slide my hand between her thighs, drawing it up until my fingers brush against her heat, and I grin wickedly as she shivers and moans again for me.

“Hudson…” She’s whimpering as I stroke her wetness through her panties, teasing her and relishing the feel of her hips pushing back against my fingers; “Please…” Holy fuck, hearing her beg like that is one the hottest things I’ve ever heard, and it’s taking my all not to pull my cock out and fuck her right here in the elevator.

“Tell me what you want,” I growl into her ear as I push her panties aside and roll my thumb over her clit.

She moans wildly and bucks her hips towards me; “Please, Hudson!”

“Not until you tell me what you want.” I whisper deeply into her ear, feeling her shudder against me.

“Hudson, please.”

She’s desperate, I can hear it in her voice as I lean in close and suck her earlobe between my lips; “Tell me, Reagan.”

“I want you,” she moans out breathily.

“What do you want, exactly.” I snarl into her ear, feeling her shiver against me.

“I want your cock!” She gasps, and it sounds so fucking hot coming from her proper little mouth.

“Where?” I growl, rolling my thumb over and around her clit in lazy, teasing circles.

“Inside me! I want your cock in my pussy!”

I groan, feeling my dick throbbing almost painfully against my zipper, but I’m not ready to give in and give her what she wants; not quite yet; “The other day, when I walked in on you in the shower,” Her face reddens and I can feel her get wetter; “You were thinking about me, weren’t you.”

She whimpers, but she shuts her eyes tight and shakes her head side to side.

“Reagan-“

I curl a finger up against her opening and began to tease it inside, and she caves with a shuddering moan; “Yes! Oh God, yes! I was!”

I reach back and slam the button again, and the elevator immediately begins to rise again; “And what were you doing, Reagan?” I husk into her ear, feeling her hands clutching at my shoulders and my biceps as I push her back against the glass elevator wall with her skirt around her waist and my hand in her panties. One of her legs wraps around my waist, and she pulls me tight against her. She shakes her head and she whimpers into my shoulder as I slowly tease her, my fingers curling through her wetness and making her rock against my hand.

“Tell me,” I command, and she moans loudly; “Fuck! I was playing with myself! I was playing with my pussy!”

The elevator door dings behind us as the doors open into my Penthouse, and she shrieks as I whirl her bodily around and throw us both to the floor inside. We’re on the ground, ripping at clothes and moaning into each other’s mouths; needing each other like something primal and animalistic. I literally tear her skirt in two up the seem as I rip it off of her, not stopping until I’ve popped every button on the side of it as she yanks my pants down. And then I’m rolling a condom on and I’m inside her, and it’s like pouring gasoline on the fire.

Holy fuck.

Cute, innocent little Reagan - smiling, friendly, baby kissing, hand-shaking girl next door Reagan Archer does not want it gentle, and we are not making love there on the floor of my penthouse. We fuck like animals; her legs wrapped tight around my waist as she claws at my back hard enough to draw blood. She gasps as I pull her head back by her hair, and I suck and bite at her neck hard enough to make sure her stylist will have a fucking heart attack the next day. She moves onto her knees, looking at me with pure lust over her shoulder as she reaches back to scratch my chest or grab my thigh, urging me on harder and faster, until I see white light and can’t even hold out any longer. She screams out her release, and as my mind goes numb, I forget anything and everything about the world and life as I come inside of her.

We’re panting and sweaty on the floor, as she lazily raises her head from my chest and looks at me with a grin; “Now what?”

“Now what; what?”

She giggles, and the sound is fucking magical; “Now that you’ve got me here to your lair and torn all my clothes to shreds?”

I reach down and grab her ass, feeling my cock stirring already; “I guess we’ll just have to stay here then, so I can keep you naked.”

P R E S E N T

After that first night at his penthouse, it’s like we’ve hit the reset button on the whole thing; whatever this thing is that Hudson and I have. But for the first time in probably ever, I don’t give one flying crap about labeling anything, or compartmentalizing it, or making it fit a certain parameter I’ve set for it.

With him, I just let go.

And things are just better with him around, and I don’t just mean the sex, though thats of course mind blowing. It’s everything. Over the next two weeks, I just start to surge ahead in the polls, and I know it’s got everything to do with him and the way he makes me feel. Every speech I give, he’s there to the side, nodding silently; his eyes flashing at me and encouraging me. He’s helping me run speeches, late at night while I’m tucked against him without a stitch of clothing on, and for some reason the scripts I’ve run through once or twice with Hudson’s half-erect cock pressed against my back somehow just come out even better when I deliver them. Really, he’s giving me his undivided support, even if he really can’t give it in public.

Which brings me back to the sex. Out of the public, its something else altogether. We’re sneaking around like fucking teenagers, screwing every chance we get and every wild place I let him drag me; like really every place. It’s like I can’t resist him, or I can’t say no when he looks at me the way he does. He takes me on the hood of his car, up on the top floor of a parking garage looking out over the New York harbor and the twinkling lights of the city, or against the floor to ceiling glass of his living room windows without me giving a care in the world. I arrive red-face and glowing, and barely on time for a stump speech at the city manager’s office because Hudson’s just had me bent over in the utility closet down the hall with his mouth on my pussy.

Essentially, I’m better with him, and for two full weeks, we pretend that there’s no way anything in the world can touch that.

*****

“Yes, second row?”

I’m at podium up in front of the Police Union offices surrounded by Donald, Erika, Hudson, and a few other staffers giving a quick press Q&A. This by now quite mundane and routine thing is made somewhat more interesting by the fact that I can literally still taste Hudson on my tongue from the hot and fast fun we had right before I stepped onto stage in an empty office.

“Yeah hi, Marc with the Times,” The sweaty looking reporter with the ironic mustache suddenly looks right past me, to Hudson; “It’s Hudson, is it?”

Hudson smirks and turns to look out the windows to the side of the conference room; “I believe that’s the East River, actually.” He grins as the murmurs and chuckles spread through the gathered reporters - mostly from the female contingent I notice - aided by his winning smile and that roguish charm it exudes. The reporter smiles thinly and nods before Hudson winks at him and nods; “Yes, it’s Hudson, last time I checked.”

“Sir, if I may-“

“All questions to Ms. Archer, if you would.” He cuts the man off succinctly as he nods towards me and takes a step back into the gathered staffers behind me.

“Well, no actually, this one’s for you.”

I frown as I look over my shoulder to see Hudson’s face darkening and his jaw tightening slightly; “Well then I’m all ears, Mar-“

“You’re military, right?”

Hudson’s jaw tightens even more, his lips thin, and I can see his eyes flash with some emotion I can’t quite place. He looks almost grim. “That’s correct, but again, I must ask that all questions be directed towards Ms. Ar-“

“Right, yeah no, you said that. But the thing is, Mr. Banks, I don’t actually see anything about you anywhere.”

The Times or not, I have no idea what this guy is going on about. I step up to the mic ready to cut him off; “Excuse me, Marc, but I think we should move on to oth-“

“I’ve looked you up, Mr. Banks; public record and all that and I don’t see anything.”

Hudson’s face is white and drawn tight, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly with his breath; “I’m not sure what you’re implying-“

“Sir, I’m implying that there’s simply no record of you being in the U.S. Military.”

Hudson’s face goes dark, his lips thin, and the hushed murmur has barely begun to spread through the crowd before he turns and abruptly leaves the stage. Donald is smiling his showman smile as he steps to the mic and says something about no further questions, but I’m already rushing off after Hudson. He’s gone by the time I get backstage, and my heart sinks as his phone goes right to voicemail when I try calling his cell. Whatever happened back there hit him somewhere deep, and somewhere where his armor doesn’t protect him, and all I want to do is tell him I don’t care and that whatever it is I’m here for him.

Of course, I have to find him first, in order to tell him that though, wherever it is he’s gone to hide that he thinks is safe.

I freeze, and just like that, I know exactly where he is as I run out the backdoor and hail a cab.

P A S T

“Shit, man.” Logan shakes his head and looks at the floor; “I’m sorry, brother; I’m real sorry to hear that.”

I’m not, though even I get that it would be weird to say that out loud.

“How-“ He coughs uncomfortably; “Shit, sorry man, that that’s none of my-“

“Booze.” I shrug and look up at him with a wry grin; “Apparently what they say about apples and distances from trees is pretty spot on, huh?”

“You’re not your father, Hudson.” Bryce says quietly.

My father was mean, fall-down drunk who I stopped talking to the day after my high school graduation when I enlisted. The only reason I even know about the neighbors finding him is because of a google alert I set up for my old hometown newspaper’s online obituary report. I know Bryce is right; I’m not my father, but it’s still this grim fucking reminder about mortality. Besides, the man  I actually think of as any sort of actual Dad-figure in my life was the Old Man, and I’ve already grieved for that father.

For a weird, brief moment, I think about calling Reagan, even though I know that door is shut. I want to call her and tell her, and just talk to her about her Dad and Dads in general. I want to hear her voice, even just once more, but I know calling would be a useless venture.

“Do you wanna call someone? A sponsor maybe?”

I know Logan is being serious, but I laugh out loud anyways; “No, man. I’m good.”

P R E S E N T

I’m sitting in my living room, in the dark, staring at a bottle when the front desk buzzes up that she’s in the lobby, and I’m ashamed to say I almost pretend I’m not home before I finally grumble a confirmation into the phone.

I don’t turn when I hear her come in, not even when I hear her footsteps pause as she walks into the room. I just stare at the bottle of scotch sitting like some sort of monolith in front of me on the carved wood table.

“Are you ok?”

Her voice finally breaks the spell the amber liquid holds over me, and I turn to her, seeing the worry etched across her face; “That was nothing, back there, it was just-” I trail off and force a smile at her instead. I’m not comfortable feeling this exposed to her, knowing that the emotions and the baggage I usually cram down somewhere deep inside are threatening to rip me apart while she’s right in front of me, and the thought of that is almost more than I can stomach.

“Look, this is nothing,” I nod at the bottle; “I’m not going to actually open it or anything, I just- I don’t know, I just like to look at it sometimes. I guess it helps in some weird way when I can stare it in the face and know I’m not going to let it get to me.” I shrug as I look at her standing there in the doorway of the dark room, silhouetted by the low light from the kitchen behind her.

“I know you aren’t.” She steps hesitantly into the room; “Hudson, I don’t care what that asshole was talking about, and you don’t have tell me anything. I just want to know that you’re OK.”

Jesus, how did I find this girl?

“I’m- I’m fine.” But then I look into her eyes and it breaks me, breaks the bullshit; “Well, no, I’m not actually.” I close my eyes as she moves into the room, and when I feel her weight on the couch next to me and feel her wrap her arms around me, I just sink into her. “Reagan, there’s a lot about me-” I pull back to look her in the eyes, and she’s looking at me so innocently, and with such an intensity that I can’t even tell her. How can I ruin that smile and the light in those eyes with the literal hell I’ve seen; with what I’ve done.

I kiss her instead, and I’m just like that, I’m losing myself in her. I’m lost in that kiss and its better than any escape I’ve ever found in any bottle I’ve ever seen the bottom of. She’s pulling us both back onto the couch and I’m collapsing into her, tearing at her stiff formal clothes. I’m pulling off the vestiges that make her the prim, poised public Reagan to get to the sexy, animalistic primal Reagan that I know that lives deeper; the Reagan that comes out when we’re both naked and my mouth is on her pussy. She gasps as I slide my lips over her sex and push my tongue inside her, and she’s rocking against my face as her hands grip my hair and my name falls from her lips. Her hands are on my hips, pulling me onto the couch alongside her, and I groan into her wetness as she takes me in her mouth. Her lips are like heaven, her tongue dancing across me, and theres something so sensual, so visceral about this that I almost don’t want to break away.

But I have to have her; I need her in that moment. She’s my new vice, my everything.

She pulls me into her as she lays back in the plush sofa, her legs wrapping around my waist to keep me inside as she rocks against me almost as hard as I push into her. We’re panting, kissing, grasping at each other like we’ll fly away if we don’t as we move together like one wave in an ocean, like a tempest. We’re both lost in the everything until the world shatters around us, as we both come screaming to the neon skyline.

Her head is lying against my chest afterwords, her fingers tracing an inked line across my skin.

“Before, that time at my Dad’s-“

“Ray-“

“No, no, it’s not like that. You already explained all that, and I’m not mad that you didn’t take advantage of the situation, Hudson; believe me. I just want to know-“

“Why I walked away, you mean?” The words are ones I’d never have imagined telling her before, though for some reason they come easy now.

“Because I knew you were hurting; I was too.” I take a deep breath; “Reagan theres so much he never told you, about everything.”

I can hear her sniff against my chest; “I know,” She says quietly.

“I had so much shit, so much pain inside. You- you don’t know, and you can’t know the things I’ve seen, Reagan,” I whisper out; “The things I’ve done-“

Her lips kissing my chest stop me; “You don’t have to tell me.”

Right, but being near me might be bad enough for you I want to scream. I’ve come a long way from the broken man I was when her father found me, but I’m still toxic, and I know that. I still have the demons clawing at my back, the lust for vices I’ll have to deny myself for the rest of my life, and the recklessness of a man who’s already seen death. How can there be a place for a girl like her in all of that shit? She’s so good, and just so damn perfect and unbroken and undimmed by the darkness of the world that I can’t bare the thought of even telling her that darkness exists. She’s the light, and I can’t let my darkness swallow that up.

“I want to, you know,” I say, running my hands through her hair and closing my eyes as she softly kisses my chest again; “I just- I just can’t; not yet.”

“I’m here, you know, when you can.”

I smile into her hair, wondering for the millionth time how all this is possible; “I know.”

P A S T

I know as soon as I step off the stage that I’ve fucked up, even before my new campaign manager stomps over to me with that mean look on his face.

“Oooo-kay, so, that was-“ He shakes his head, sighing heavily at me like I’m some sort of disobedient child; “That was not good, Reagan.”

I’m feeling flustered, and out of my element, and mad at myself for not going up there and being strong; “I know, I’m sorry, Donald.”

“I give you a script for a reason, you know; stick to it.”

I groan; “I know, I know, it’s just- I mean, I’m doing this because I have ideas, and visions, and projects that are important to me that I really want to make part of my platform in all of this. And I feel like if I ignore those things-“

“If you ignore those things, you’ve got a shot at being elected.” Donald snaps at me.

“Well then what’s the point? What about fighting for what you believe in? What about having passion for things that matter?”

He sighs; “To get elected, Reagan. If that’s not your goal, than you may be wasting your money with me.” He takes off his glasses and looks at me sharply as he cleans them with his tie; “You do want to actually get elected, right?” I nod quietly. “Good, then keep your fluffy daydream ideas inside and stick to the damn script.

P R E S E N T

I giggle as I push back against him, feeling his lips brush against the back of my neck and send shivers down my spine; “We need to stop this, I’m about to go on stage you know.” I bite my lip, wondering if that sounded even remotely more convincing to him than it did to me.

“Stop what?” He growls into my ear, and I gasp as I feel his fingers slide up the inside of my thigh, under my relatively conservative knee-length skirt. I gasp as he finds what I know he was looking for, his fingers sliding over the gusset of my panties and only making me press back against him even more.

“Mmm…that. Stop that.” I murmur, my eyes closing as he touches me there.

“What, this?” His fingers slip under the seam of my panties and slide through my wetness. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as I reach back behind me to the hardness in his pants, and I begin to stroke his length. “That’s not exactly doing much for your case here, Senator,” He whispers huskily into my ear.

“Fine.” I grin as I hear him groan as I take my hand away from him, but suddenly I’m gasping as his other hand suddenly hikes my skirt all the way up to my waist behind me. Before I can even turn around, his hand is yanking my panties down over my thighs; “Don’t even think about it!” And I squirm to try and stop him, but not really all that hard.

“Too late,” he says with a sly grin against my skin, as he pushes my panties down further until they drop down my lets to my heels.

Welcome to a typical Thursday afternoon with Reagan and Hudson; sneaking around like we’re teenagers and fucking every chance we get; even when that chance is a chancing it in itself. We’re about to go out on stage to sit for this panel-type discussion with a news anchor about my platform and about me being the “fresh young face of politics” or something like that. Hudson’s going to be out there too actually, due to his association with Archer Holdings, and while he resisted at first, I managed to convince him.

…Ok, so maybe I convinced him while I was fucking him, but that doesn’t make me any less of an amazing negotiator.

Suddenly, I can feel him doing something behind me with his hand, as I hear a familiar sound, my eyes go wide; “Hudson!” I can feel it then, his bare, naked cock pressing hotly against the skin of my ass cheeks. “What the fuck are you going?” I hiss, peeking out from behind the curtain we’re hiding behind to glance out at the stage and seeing that they’re just about set up. He pushes the head of his cock down between my legs, and I’m suddenly moaning quietly as I feel him slide it across my opening; “Hudson, don’t even thi- oooh.” He growls into my ear as he pushes half of his length inside of me, and I can feel me knees go week as I ease back against him.

“Oh, did you mean don’t even think about this?” He chuckles as he pushes his hips forward, sliding deeper into me.

“Reagan!”

Fuck. Erika is on stage, shielding her eyes from the lights and looking around the empty auditorium for me. With a moan, I’m pulling myself away from Hudson and pushing him back as I try and catch my breath; “Put that away!” I say with a giggle, eyeing his cock which is sticking out from his pants still glistening from me.

He shrugs and grins at me; “Why?”

“You’re incorrigible!” I roll my eyes at him before I see that he’s holding my panties on the end of one of his fingers; “Give me my panties.”

“Oh, these?” With a smirk, he closes his hand around them and slides them into his jacket pocket.

“Hudson!” I hiss, my face growing red; “I’m serio-“

“Reagan!”

Hudson’s cocky grin is plastered across his face as he gestures nods towards the stage and to Erika’s shrieking voice; “We better get out there, Senator.”

*****

I’m still buzzing electrically from Hudson’s teasing while I smile at the woman sitting across from us. It’s Hudson and I sitting at one desk, and her at the other, at sort of angles to each other so that we can both also face the small assembled crowds and the live cameras. Yeah, live televisions with loose cannon Hudson Banks and a lingering sexual high still teasing my body from him; what could possibly go wrong in this scenario?

“Well, Amy,” I’m saying; “Politics don’t exactly run in my family, but doing good does. You see, my Father-“

“Now, forgive me for interrupting Ms. Archer, but Archer Holdings is, or at least was a major player in the international firearms market, was it not?”

Well, this question had to come up sooner or later, and I’m prepared; “It was, Amy, but that was a long time ago. My Dad and a lot of very good friends of his, including Mr. Banks here, did a lot to change that.”

“And Mr. Archer here is involved in your campaign?”

“Oh I think I can take this one Amy, if you don’t mind.” He’s flashing that criminally charming smile at her, and I can see her cheeks flushing a little, even through all the lights and the makeup. Yeah, welcome to my world, honey.

“I’m affiliated with Ms. Archer’s campaign, but only so much in that I consider myself a strong supporter of her platform.”

I stiffen suddenly as I feel his hand drop to my thigh beneath the table, and my eyes shoot to his face, which is of course, totally impassive as he smiles at the news anchor.

“Right, but you do work for Archer Ho-“

“I do, but my personal involvement with Ms. Archer’s campaign -“ his hand slides up my thigh, and I’m scrambling to thrust my own hands beneath the table as well as unassumingly as I can to stop him; “- is totally separate from what I do with William Archer’s company.” His hand pushes my own away easily, and then I’m struggling to swallow and keep my face neutral as I feel his fingers slide over the lips of my pussy.

Yeah, when exactly did I think it was a good move to go on live televisions with this man?

“So, Ms. Archer-“

I cough as Hudson’s fingers slip between my dripping wet lips, and Amy looks at me quizzically. “Sorry, Amy, I was just going to say that you can really just call me Reagan.” I smile at her innocently; “I think we’re on a first name basis here aren’t we?” She laughs along with the audience, and I turn my grinning face towards Hudson, who’s just sitting there grinning at me like the cat with the canary. Only in this case, it’s his fingers and my pussy.

“Well, you know lots of people associate you with your father because of your last name, but I hope I’m not the first one to make a political reference about your first name!” Amy chuckles; yeah, yet another joke I’ve only heard about eight-million times since I started politics.

“So anyways Reagan, why don’t you tell us a bit more about what it feels like to be the media sensation you’ve become since announcing your candidacy? I mean - and no offense meant here - State Senate races are rarely given the amount of limelight you’ve manages to shine onto the New York state primaries.”

“Oh, no offense taken Amy, you see-“

Hudson clears his throat; “If I could just insert something here, Amy.” I groan and grab the edge of the desk with white knuckles as I feel Hudson push two of his finger into my opening, sliding them deep inside of me. I glare up at him, but he’s still mugging for the camera. “I think Reagan’s strong suit is her ability to galvanize people and get them to pay attention. It’s all about rubbing people the right way.” I swallow my gasp as his thumb begins to roll over my aching clit, sending electrical shocks through my whole body right there on live television. I decide right there that if I somehow make it off this stage, I’m going to murder him.

The interview continues, and somehow I find myself on autopilot; answering Amy’s questions with answers that just sort of come to me while I sit there smiling at the cameras like a robot as Hudson’s magic fingers coax me higher and higher, until I’m terrified that I’m going to come right here on live television and give the whole fucking thing away. But then, the interview is over, and everyone is cheering at my apparently winning answers, and it’s right there, in the midst of everything clapping and cheering, that Hudson manages to completely push me over the edge of my climax. I cry out, but it just looks like I’m shouting my exuberance to my adoring voter base, instead of what it is I’m actually doing, which is having a fucking orgasm on live Goddamn TV.

“I am going to kill you!” I hiss into his ear as we stand after it’s over; smoothing my skirt down and trying to find my breath.

“Bring it, Red.” He grins, winking at me.

Amy shakes my hand, and mercifully not Hudson’s, before he’s leading me out the stage door to the side parking lot.

“What the fuck was that?” Donald is standing there waiting for us just outside with his arms crossed over his chubby chest and his face looking furious.

“Uh, excuse me?” My voice falters as I suddenly have a horrible thought that he knows what Hudson was doing to me up there during the interview.

“What happened to sticking to the Goddamned SCRIPT, Reagan!” Donald honestly looks furious, and I’m suddenly realizing that I never glanced down at his list of canned answers once during the whole thing. I did the whole interview off-the-cuff while Hudson was driving me wild; probably giving the answers I wanted to give instead of the boring, middle-of-the-road ones he wanted me to say.

“I- I don’t now, it just felt natural to say what I wanted to say, Donald.”

Hudson is tugging me away towards his car, and Donald is sputtering as he trails after us.“Where the hell do you think you’re going? Uh, excuse me, Hudson, I’m not done with my fucking candidate yet!”

We’re at his car, and Hudson suddenly whirls on Donald; “Yes, you are.” He says, his voice deep and leaden as he stares down my campaign manager. He turns to me as he opens the passenger door; “Hop in, Senator.”

*****

This time it’s me that hits the emergency button inside Hudson’s elevator, and the surprised look on his face only gets better when I just start to pull my clothes off right there. But when I turn around and press my hands against the glass and arch my ass back at him, I’m pretty sure that surprise turns into something else pretty quickly. He growls as he enters me, and then he fucks me like he owns me, and it’s exactly how I want him to fuck me. His grip is tight on my hip, even bringing his hand down to smack my ass and make me cry out against the glass and the neon New York skyline. He grabs me by the hair and turns my face into his kiss, and I’m clawing and screaming at the edges of my sanity as I feel his length fill me again and again and again. When I come, he’s right there with me, pressing his body flush to mine as we ride that wave together, our choked breaths coming as one as our heartbeats racing the other in a dead sprint.

I have officially gone off-script; both with the campaign and with whatever it is I’m doing with Hudson, and quite honestly, I’ve never been happier.

P R E S E N T

A few nights later, we’re driving in my car and I’m almost insulted when she doesn’t ask me where we’re going, but I see the grin on her face out the corner of my eye as I take us over the George Washington bridge an onto the Palisades Parkway. I let the horses under the hood roar as I gun us up the west side of the Hudson, letting New York fall away behind us in the rearview mirror as we head into the night.

Finally, I cave; “Well, shit, don’t you even want to know where we’re going?” Reagan’s face breaks into a wide smile; “I mean common Archer, I prepared this whole little speech and everything.” I shake my head, feeling alive and on fire and more whole than I’ve felt in a very long time.

“I’ve got an idea where we’re going, but please, lets hear this speech of yours.” She sticks her tongue out at me, her whole face lit up by the dash and her smile just flashing right into me.

“Well, now I’ve forgotten it.” I shake my head as I sigh dramatically; “Your loss too, it was a good one.”

She laughs that musical laugh of hers and slides over across the bench seat against me. And as my arm goes around her shoulders and draws her close, I realize I have and will never feel more like Steve McQueen than I do in that perfect moment. It’s just Reagan and I, the car, and the road, and it’s just fucking perfect.

I know she thinks she knows where we’re going; to our place where the romance that didn’t, that couldn’t happen back then. But then is not now, and things are very different now with Reagan and I than they were back then a lifetime ago. I mean I was crazy about her back then, even if I didn’t know what to do with it. And now? Well now that I’m in lo- wow, shit. I feel my heart pound as I mull over that particular four-letter word, but I don’t even have to dwell on it to know its true.

When we drive past the Bear Mountain turnoff I know she recognizes, I grin broadly seeing her glance back at the sign out of the corner of my eye. She looks at me with a sly look; “Alright, you got me.”

“I’d say so.”

*****

She’s cracking up by the time I park the car, and as we stroll arm and arm towards the entrance she looks at me and shakes her head; “Seriously? A Renaissance faire?”

I grin; “Hey, might as well put that one semester to use huh?” She rolls her eyes and I pull her to me and kiss her hard as she melts into me. “You know,” I say, breaking away for a second; “I think it’s good for you to get out of that city sometimes. Now comon Senator, let’s go get us some culture.”

“Oh, culture? Is that what we’re here for?” She nods towards two guys dressed in actual metal armor chugging enormous steins of beer while a woman dressed as some sort of tavern wench with her tits half hanging out cheers them on and shouts things like “m’lord.”

I shrug; “Well, you know, someone’s culture.”

She laughs, hugging my arm tighter in the chill of the air, and then we’re laughing as she loops her arm through mine and we stroll through fair-grounds.

“Why do I feel like I’m in high school or something right now?”

I laugh; “Were you a big Dungeons and Dragon’s kid in high school?”

“No!” She rolls her eyes at me in that adorable way that just makes me smile; “No I mean strolling around a fair like this, renaissance or not.” She shrugs; “I always wanted to stroll around a fairgrounds with some hot boy on my arm.” She raises her eyes and looks at me, a blush of pink spreading over her cheeks.

“Oh, what, like you didn’t have guys beating down your door to stroll around anywhere with you back then?”

She shrugs; “Nope, I guess not. Comon, you met me during that phase, back at that graduation party.”

I stare at her like she’s insane; “Yeah, and you were a fucking knockout.”

“I was a bookworm.”

“Yeah and that’s worked out terribly for you, hasn’t it Madame State Senator.” I shake my head at her as she giggles; “And besides, I did meet you back then, and you were, and remain, a total babe.”

She grins and pulls me in for a kiss; “So, how’s the fairground fantasy so far, Archer?” I murmur into her lips.

She laughs and looks around us until her eyes fixate on something behind us; “Well, you could go win me that stuffed dragon over there, that might make it complete.” She winks at me and leans close; “You might even get lucky later if you do.”

I arch my eyebrows, already feeling my cock stir in my pants; “Lucky like, I get to pick what we listen to on the way home?” I grin, knowingly baiting her.

She leans in again and brushes her lips across my ear; “Oh I meant lucky like you get to bend me over the hood of your car and fuck me like you mean it on the way home.”

She pulls away and winks at me, and I’m practically speechless; “You know I could just buy you the fucking toy and we could get to that part now.” She giggles as she grabs my hand and pulls me towards the game stands, and I’m wondering how I’m going to throw a fucking knife with a hard-on threatening to tear through my pants.

Both Reagan and the guy dressed like a jester stare at me with their jaws on the ground when I manage to not only hit the bullseye on the first throw, but then subsequently split the handle of that first knife with the second and then third throws. I shrug and grin smugly at the guy as he wordlessly passes me the stuffed toy before I turn to bestow it on Reagan.

“Ok, where the hell did you-“

“Eh, it’s just this thing I can do.” I don’t need to tell her that back in Africa, throwing knives were like the chess game of the mercenary circuit.

She’s just shaking her head at me though as she laughs and slips her hand into mine; “I don’t want to know, do I?”

I laugh; “Someday, but for now, there’s some fried dough over there with our name on it; classic fairground fantasy fodder.” She wrinkles her nose at the mention of friend dough, but I pull her close and kiss her; “And then, don’t think I’m not going to take you up on that offer of bending you over that car and fucking that sweet pussy of yours.” I growl, nodding with my chin at the stuffed dragon in her hand and letting her feel how hard I am as I press against her.

“You promise?” She whispers, her voice thick.

I do manage to get her to eat fried dough, and we drink hot cider, and even watch a damned jousting match, and it’s amazing. No one knows her here; no one gives a shit who she is, and that’s a good thing. We laugh, and we’re making out in public like two idiot teenagers, and we’re invisible to the world around us. Out here, she’s not some hotshot politician. Out here, in my arms, she’s just a beautiful girl, kissing the luckiest guy in the damn world.

P R E S E N T

“It looks so quiet from up here.”

I’d grinned and feel a little thrill of excitement shiver through me when Hudson swerved off the main road onto the turnoff I’d recognized before. We’re back at our lookout spot on Bear Mountain looking out over the Hudson River and the shining lights of New York in the distance beyond that, just like we were all those years ago. Now though, it’s like I took every romantic fantasy I had back then and made them real. This time, we aren’t sitting on opposite sides, not touching and just sitting in our own unspoken feelings. This time, I’m snuggled right up against him, his arm is around my shoulders, and I’m leaning my head into his chest. Our hands toy with each other, palms sliding together and fingers interlocking with fingers as we just stare out over the city in the stillness of the night.

“You’re right, you know,” I say, running my fingers over his wrist; “I do need to get out more often and just get away from all that.” I sigh; “Sometimes it just feels like I’m trapped in this whole act that isn’t even me; like I’m just playing a part in this play and spilling out the lines from this character I wasn’t ever meant to play.”

“You should speak your mind and say what you wanna say more often, Archer.” He grins; “Hell, you don’t ever hold back with me and you’ve seemed to have gotten my attention.”

I laugh and smack his hand away as it slides down over my breast; “Oh is that the kind of attention I’m looking for with my core voter pool?”

He snorts; “Hell no, this belongs to me only.” His hands slides back down and cups my breast through my thin sweater, and I roll my eyes.

“Oh, belongs to you, huh? So I guess I’m just your own private little plaything?”

“Yep, you’ve got it.”

I laugh again and nuzzle my face into his broad strong chest; “How come I can never tell if you’re a good influence or a terrible one?”

He chuckles; “Tell me that’s not half the fun.”

I close my eyes and grin and just savor the moment; “I just feel like we missed out on so much time, because of, well, you know.”

He reaches down and turns my face up with his fingers on my chin, and his eyes are boring right into mine; “It was time I needed to figure out me, and and time that you needed to become, well, look at you; now you’re this fucking sexy as hell State Senate candidate.”

I roll my eyes in mock disdain; “Oh, now? What was I back then, hmm?”

He kisses me fiercely; “Oh you just weren’t a politician back then;” his slides his tongue teasingly over my lips, making me smile; “But that doesn’t mean you weren’t sexy as fuck.”

Something about the way he says that word fuck sends a shiver of arousal through my body, and the fact that his hand is still on breast and that his finger is starting to circle slowly around my nipple through the thin material of the sweater has me suddenly squirming in my seat against him.

“Say it again,” I whisper, biting my lip as I feel his mouth slide down to my ear.

“What,” he says, sending electric shocks through my whole nervous system as he growls into my ear; “That you’re sexy as fuck?”

A small gasp escapes my lips as my eyes close, and I can feel him grin devilishly into my ear; “Ahh, does innocent little Reagan Archer get hot and bothered when I say the word ‘fuck’?”

“I’m innocent am I?”

“Not after I’m done with you.”

The moan that drops from my lips is the only confirmation he needs, and suddenly his hands are doing a lot more than teasing. I gasp as he slides them up under my sweater and under my bra, his fingers teasing my nipples. He kisses me fiercely, his lips bruising mine as he growls into my mouth, and only pulling back to pull the sweater off over my head and tear my bra off.

His hands are on my waist, his fingers teasing along the seam of my jeans; “Take these off,” he growls into my mouth. I look around sheepishly, even though I know we’re the only ones up here.

“Now, Princess.”

His words send a throbbing wave of desire right through me. God, how does he do that to me? I’m not one to be bossed around like this, and yet no sooner does he say it then I’m unbuttoning them and pulling them down off my feet.

“Those too.” He draws my mouth back to his as I skim my panties down my legs, and then I’m totally naked in the front of seat of Hudson Banks’s Charger. I curl my legs up under me, but he stopes me with a hand on my thigh; “Uh-uh, show me.” He looks at me like a wolf cornering his prey; “Show me how you played with yourself when you’d think of me.”

I blush and shake my head at him; “Why you arrogant-“ I trail off as I bite my lip, seeing the fire in his eyes flare at me; seeing right into me. And suddenly, I want to show him; I want to show him everything.

I keep my eyes locked on his as I spread my legs and lean back against the door behind me. My heart is racing in my ears as I slide my hand down over my stomach, and then I’m moaning quietly as my fingers find my wetness. I’m biting my lip and gasping quietly as I roll my fingers over my aching clit, and the look of pure unbridled hunger and lust in his eyes is driving me crazy, as is the huge bulge in pants.

And then he’s pulling his shirt off, and my eyes are roaming over his muscles and his tattoos and his scars, and it’s so fucking hot and feels so goddamn sexy to be touching myself like this while he watches; “Hudson, I want to see-“

But he’s already yanking his pants down, and his thick cock is springing up to slap against his muscled abdomen. And then he’s leaning over across the seat between us and kissing his way up the inside of my thigh. My head is thrown back, and I’m biting my lip and still rubbing my clit as his tongue drags over my lips and pushes inside. My other hand clutches at his hair as he licks me slowly and then faster and faster, his tongue swirling around my opening before he slides it up and sucks my finger and my clit between his lips and sucks. When he pushed a finger inside of me and curls it up against that sweet spot just inside, I’m crying out his name and bucking against him as I come for him.

And then I’m pushing him back and crawling into his lap. I can feel him pulsing hot against me as I grab him by the face and kiss him, tasting my own sweetness and not only not even caring but actually feeling more turned on by it. I reach down between us and position him against me, teasing him with my slippery wetness until he growls and pulls way from my lips; “Hang on, I think I’ve got one in-“

“No.”

He frowns and looks up at me questioningly; “Reag-“

“Don’t put one on,” I say quietly, my eyes flashing as we lock gazes; “Not this time. I want to feel you and just you inside of me.”

He groans, his jaw tightening and his cock throbbing against me; “I’ve, uh-“ He furrows his brow; “That’s my one hard fast rule. I’ve never without one.”

I bite my lip, grinning at him shyly; “Look who you’re talking to, Marine; neither have I.”

His chest is rising and falling quickly with his breath as he stares at me with lust and wonder on his face, a look that makes me feel like every stupid girl-hood princess fantasy; “I’m clean-“

“So am I,” I say quietly, unable to stop myself from rocking my hips against him and feeling his thickness against me; “And I’m on the pill.” This is utterly insane and totally reckless, and nothing I could picture myself doing in a million years, but that’s just how he makes me feel. It’s like he has this sort of power over me, and yet the fact that he’s willing to take the same leap with me speaks to the power I have over him; it’s a power we have with together, and it’s the last assurance I need.

“Fuck me, Hudson.” I whisper into his lips; “Fuck me like we’re the last two people on Earth.” I slide back onto him, gasping as I feel his head begin to slide into me.

“Fuck, Reagan.” He groans, and I’m whimpering as he slowly fills me entirely with his impressive length. His hands hold me tightly by the waist as he rocks in deeply, pulling me further and further down onto him until I moan as I feel myself press tight against his body. He feels incredible inside of me, filling me like I’ve never felt before, and when he grunts, I can feel the throbbing twitch of his pulse deep inside. His hands clutch at my ass, grinding himself against me and hitting that secret spot inside as we just rock like that for a second.

“Holy shit, Reagan, you feel fucking incredible.” He slides his fingers into my hair and grabs a handful of it, using his hold to pull me to his lips.

“Just you, and just me; nothing separating us,” I moan into his mouth.

We begin to rock together like that, me straddling his lap right there in the car as he plunges me up and down his length. We moan together, our breath and our tongues mingling as his hard muscled arms hold me tight and rock me against him. He yanks my head back by the hair, making me cry out with pain and pleasure as his lips nip and suck at the sensitive skin along my collarbone. I rock on him, my nipples dragging over his chest and my clit grinding into his pubic bone as we move faster and faster together and I feel myself begin to tumble over the edge.

“I’m- I’m going to- Oh fuck, Hudson, I’m-“

“Oh fuck me too,” He growls, biting my earlobe and rocking deep into me; “Come for me, Reagan, come all over my big cock.” The thought of Hudson coming with me, bare and totally unprotected inside of me has me clawing at the edges of my sanity as I begin to fall. He grinds up into me one last time, and it’s like a bomb going off. I scream his name, my fingers clawing at his biceps and his shoulders as the whole world shatters around me. He’s hugging me to him tightly as he roars out my name, and then I can feel him throbbing within me as he lets go and just fills me with his hot cum.

We stay like that, wrapped in each other’s arms and in each other’s heat in the steamy-windowed darkness of the car. There’s so much I want to say in that moment, and then later when we drive home in grinning silence, or even after that back at his penthouse when I curl up to him in his bed, but I just don’t know how. I can give a million wordy speeches to crowds of cheers or jeers, or cameras broadcasting my face and my words to televisions across the country, and it’s effortlessly without a second thought in the world. So why is it when it comes to saying three words to the one man I’m dying to say them too, I suddenly feel like I’ve come down with stage fright?

P R E S E N T

“Oh my God, you’re terrible!” I grin as she squirms in my arms, fighting but not really fighting me as I kiss up the side of her neck.

“Hudson!” She hisses, before a low moan escapes her lips and she closes her eyes as I nibble at her earlobe; “I’m on stage for the speech in like ten minutes!” She moans again, her hands running up my arms and clutching at my shoulders; “We should really start timing these shenanigans for when I’m not about to walk in front of a bunch of TV cameras looking like I just rolled around bed with someone.”

In fairness, we do this other than when she’s about to walk out for a speech or a debate or something too; all the fucking time in fact. But the fact that I want her all the time, and the fact that neither of us can keep our hands off each other means that here we are in situations just like this with my hand creeping up under her blouse, and her hand stroking my cock through my pants.

“Yeah, but you love our shenanigans.” I growl into her ear, making her giggle before my fingers on her nipple makes her gasp.

“Well, yeah, but - oh fuck, right there.” I grin as my lips center around that magic switch of a spot I’ve found at the base of her neck, right where it slopes into her collarbone. Her hand starts to fumble at my belt-buckle, and then she’s pushing her hand inside and wrapping her fingers around my cock.

“Hell of a protest you’re putting on here, Red.” I groan into her neck, letting my own hand slip down to her skirt. I slide my hand up under it, and suddenly pull away to stare at her with shocked amusement; “Is little Miss Reagan Archer not wearing panties?”

She blushes, but it’s more of a hungry look than anything embarrassed; “I want you in the car ride home, after,” She purrs quietly in a way that makes my cock throb in her hand; “I thought I’d make that easier.”

“Jesus who are you, woman, and what have you done with sweet little Reagan?” I grin, moving down to kiss her as I slide my fingers into her wetness.

“I think it’s what you do to sweet little Reagan,” she husks sexily into my mouth, and I growl.

I push her back against the desk, sliding her up onto it and pushing between her thighs. She’s moaning and pulling my cock out of my fly, and I’m teasing against her opening. We’re kissing and gasping, and so into the moment that neither of us hear the door to her prep-room open, and it’s not until we hear it slam and Donald’s bellowing yell that we spring apart like we’ve just been shocked with a current. Reagan’s sliding off the desk and smoothing her skirt, her face bright red, and I’m stuffing my cock into my pants as I look at fucking Donald over my shoulder.

“Oh now this is fucking perfect isn’t it!” His face is bright red and puffing mad, and as I turn around to face him, he narrows his eyes at me; “Yeah, we’ve got big trouble now, Hudson.”

P R E S E N T

There’s a ringing in my ears as I look around the room in slow-motion; like in the movies after some kind of explosions. But I suppose you could say a bomb has just gone off here too. Donald is sputtering something, and slowly, as the pulsing ring in my ears dies away, his shrieking words hit me.

“Oh now this is fucking perfect now isn’t it?” His face is contorted as he shakes his head, wagging his finger at me like I’m some misbehaving child; “First you go off script, and then you’re back here slumming it with this piece of trash! You’re going to ruin this whole thing for me, Reagan!”

I narrow my eyes at him; “For you, Donald? I’m sorry, remind me who’s campaign-“

“Oh, save it, honey. Do you know how many hands of trust fund brats I’ve held through first round elections? You think you’re special just because you’re playing kissy-face with this washout?” Hudson’s face goes dark, but Donald barrels right along; “I set things up with Chet, who tests very well with our voter base, and you’re going to ruin that with this schmuck! Jesus Christ, Reagan, why can’t you just follow the plans I fucking tell you to follow?!”

“Maybe because you work for her, and maybe because your plans suck, that’s why.” Hudson growls, taking a step towards him.

Donald fumes as he whirls on Hudson; “You stay the hell out of this! I don’t need one of William Archer’s stupid little fucking pet projects stepping on my toes here. He should have left you in whatever third world pocket he found you in and let you rot; hell, he should have stayed there himself.

I can feel the rage explode out of me; “You do not talk about him OR my father like that, asshole!”

Donald whirls on me, his face red and puffing as he shoves a piece of paper into my hands; “We’re going to fix this right now. Read this when you go out there, and say only this. I swear to God, you are not going to ruin this for me you spoiled little bitch!”

Hudson’s fist is already drawn back when he steps forward, but before he even gets close, I slap Donald hard across the face.

He gasps and sputters, holding the red mark on his cheek and gaping at me; “Oh, now you’re going to regret that! I’m calling my attorney!”

“Be my guest,” I spit out; “Oh and, Donald, I think it might go without saying, but you’re fired.”

He sneers at me; “Read my contract, babe; you can’t fire me mid-run.”

Fuck.

Hudson does step forward then, right in Donald’s face, and he glowering down on the smaller man; “And if the campaign can’t pay you?”

“Excuse me?” Donald huffs, taking a wary step back from Hudson.

“I said what if they can’t pay you. If the campaign goes broke, are you prepared to work for free?”

He sputters; “What? No, of course not! It’s ridiculous to think that I’d be willing to stick around this spoiled little brat without-“

“Excellent.” Hudson nods curtly, cutting him off. He takes his cell phone out and begins to type something before he turns to me. “Ms. Archer?” He winks at me with a big shit-eating grin on his face; “Romantic fraternization between political and private enterprise is unfortunately grounds for contractual liquidation under your agreement with our company.” His back is to Donald, and only I can see as he winks again and sticks his tongue out at me; “So, on behalf of Archer Holdings, I regret to inform you that we’ll be revoking your campaign funding, effective immediately.” He turns back to Donald; “I’d recommend not cashing your check this week; it’s going to bounce.”

Donald’s face goes a bright shade of crimson, and he opens his mouth as if to say something though words seem to fail him in that moment. He sputters something unintelligible out his piggy mouth before he whirls around and stomps out of the room.

P R E S E N T

“You know as soon as he quits, I’m making sure the funds hit your campaign again, right?”

Reagan’s cheeks are flushed when she looks up at me; “Holy shit, I mean; wow.” She laughs nervously and then with more feeling, like she’s just shrugged a weight off her shoulders; “I should not have done that. I mean I really should not have done that! He’s probably going to try and sue you know.”

I grin; “I’m willing to bet he doesn’t know that quitting before his contract finishes voids it entirely, so fuck him; I’ll have your father’s lawyers eat him alive.”

She’s staring at me with stars in her eyes and her whole face smiling, and I can’t help but smile right back; that’s just the effect she has on me; “Hudson, I l-“

The door bursts open and a harried and winded looking campaign intern with a clipboard barges into the room; “Ms. Archer! You need to follow me right now; you’re on stage in three minutes!”

Well shit, hows that for perfect timing,

She nods at the kid but whirls back to me; “Will you watch it?”

“Oh, what is it we’re here for? Some sort of telethon? Are you raising money for PBS?” I grin at her as she makes a face at me; “I was actually thinking about heading across the street to that bar and catching the rest of the game or something.”

She rolls her eyes; “Hudson, you are the most infuriati-“

“Reagan,” I grab her hand and squeeze it. There’s so much I want to tell her; so much I need to tell her. But she’s about to go on fucking television for this speech, so instead I just wink at her; “Of course I’ll watch it.”

And I do, and it’s incredible; she’s incredible.

There’s none of Donald’s bullshit middle of the road crap this time; she speaks the truth and she speaks from the heart. She talks about corruption and government kickbacks, and the lack of oversight. She names names, and calls people out right there on television, and its fucking amazing. She’s bold and she’s fearless, and once they pull their jaws off the ground, the people there go fucking nuts.

“Ms. Archer!” A woman with a microphone calls out from the crowd of screaming reporters as Reagan prepares to take questions; “You really just came out swinging in that speech, which isn’t quite a side of you we’ve seen yet. You’re already ahead in the polls; what brought this on?”

Reagan smiles and nods her head; “Because a dear friend recently taught me that the things you care about are the things worth fighting to be heard about.”

There are a million more questions, but one guy towards the front is screaming louder than the rest; “Ms. Archer! Ms. Archer! We’re hearing reports from your very own campaign manager about some sort of alleged illicit relationship between yourself and an employee of Archer Holdings, your primary campaign financier. Some sort of ex-Army guy?”

The screaming crowd of journalists actually goes quiet, hanging on the silence as Reagan’s face freezes, and I feel my whole heart skip a beat. But then she’s turning to look right at me in the wings off-stage, and she’s grinning that perfect smile that just slays me every time. She nods at me, her eyes sparkling, and then she’s beckoning to me, and waving me on stage. I give her a quizzical look, but she rolls her eyes and beckons me again before turning back to the gathered reporters again with a smirk on her face; “He’s a Marine, actually, and I wouldn’t exactly call being in love an ‘illicit affair’.”

I’m staring at her like we’re both crazy as I walk on the stage, right into the limelight and the camera flashes and the screaming questions. “You sure you know what you’re doing, Archer?” I murmur as the crowd of reporters begin to scream and hurl questions at us.

She grins; “Which part?”

“Both?”

She grabs my tie and pulls me close; “Definitely,” she whispers, and then she’s pulling me into a kiss right there in front of everyone. This is literally the polar opposite of blending in, but as I scoop her into my arms, I feel the whole world slip away anyways, because that what she does to me. And right there in that moment, I know I’m ready for whatever the fuck comes next because I’ve got her, and for the first time in forever, I feel whole.

We kiss for what feels like an hour but is probably more like ten glorious seconds with the million flashbulbs going off around us, before she pulls back and grins at me.

“Sorry, I probably should have mentioned it before that I love you.”

I shrug and grin at her; “Oh, do you? Yeah I never would have picked up on tha-“

She laughs and punches my arm before I pull her right back into me; “Hey Princess,” I murmur, kissing her again; “I love you too, you know.”

And right there, nothing else matter in the whole fucking universe but her.

P A S T

I take my time getting ready. As I’m pulling my pants on, or tucking in my shirt, or tying the double windsor knot in my tie, it’s like I’m suiting up my armor to head into battle. I can feel my nerves jangling like live-wires inside of me, my pulse skipping around like a broken record as I finish getting ready; finish getting prepared for this.

I’ve had a million conversations with her over the last few years. I’ve written her letters that I’ve burned instead of sending, had conversations with the memory of her late into the night when I’m alone and sleepless with my thoughts. Hell, I’ve played out this very meeting a hundred different ways in my head since I decided I was going. But none of it has me prepared to see her again. But the nervousness and the jangling nerves is like an elevated, surreal feeling thats better than any booze.

It was Bryce who heard about the chain store pulling funding after her comments about raising the minimum wage, and while I’ve weighed how she’s going to react to this a dozen different ways since then, I know this is the only way. I believe in her, and not just because I know William did, but because if believing in her and her campaign is believing in myself and maybe my ability to become normal someday.

I finger the bullet in my pocket, staring down my reflection in the mirror. I straighten my tie once more, along with a straying bit of hair, before I take a deep breath. This is it. It’s time to go meet Reagan Archer for the first time in five years, and for the first time in a very long time, I’m actually excited about what might come at me next.

P R E S E N T

Two weeks later, after the media circus has sort of died down about the “young Senatorial candidate and the billionaire Marine”, Hudson and I are back at my father’s house, sitting on the terrace off the library; our terrace. We’re sipping iced tea, and with my hands held in his, and he tells me everything; all of it. He tells me about the horrors of war, and the village in Afghanistan. He tells me about addiction and demons, and being on the run, and their stint as mercenaries in Africa. I start to tear up when he tells me about getting shot - both times -, but it’s when he looks me straight in the eye and tells me that my father was the best thing that ever happened to him for saving them from all of that, that I just start to cry.

“So, that’s-“

“That’s why I pushed you away the first time. I’d made your father a promise to protect you, and letting you into all that shit that was inside of me wasn’t protecting you at all.”

“And now?” I bite my lip as I look up at him, at this man who’s basically gone to the very edge and somehow come back to life; this man who makes me feel complete and alive like I’ve never felt before; “Is all of that history finished now?”

He shakes his head; “No- it’s not; not entirely.” He slides his hand through my hair to the back of my head as he pulls me close and grins at me; “But for now, I think I can let a lot of that shit go.” He winks at me; “Seems I’ve got more important things to think about now.” He leans in and kisses me, and I lose myself in him.

“Ms. Archer?” I break shyly away from Hudson as one of my staffers pokes her head out the door. Ok, Hudson and I are out in the open now, but PDA still makes me blush like a schoolgirl, even if he’s trying something in public every chance he gets.

“Yes?” I say, clearing my throat.

“There’s an older gentlemen here to see you.”

*****

Major Lawson nods a thanks as I pour him a glass of iced tea; “So, you’re going to win this thing, you know.”

I smile; “Ah, well thank you for your positive thoughts!“

He shakes his head, smiling; “No I mean, I’ve been doing this a long time, Ms. Archer, and you just plain have it. You are going to win this election.”

“Well, thank you, sir.”

“I’ve got a proposition for you though.” He takes a sip of tea and smiles at me; “I want you to do your two year stint with New York, and then I want you to quit.”

My eyes dart to Hudson before I turn back to the Major; “Excuse me?” I shake my head; “Listen, Major Lawson, if you think you can-“

“Because I want you to stop piddling away with this local yokel state stuff and come with me to D.C.”

My jaw drops as I stare at him; “What?”

“You have a unique quality, Ms. Archer, and a talent for statesmanship that you don’t see often in this business, as strange as that sounds.” He puts his glass down and steeples his hands in front of him; “I want to run you for U.S. Senate, Ms. Archer, so that I can put you on with Veterans Affairs where you can do some real good.”

I’m speechless, my mouth opening without words as my heart jumps up into my throat, and I realize I’m grinning like an idiot before I can even say anything. Major Lawson just smiles at me; “I’m going to assume that’s a yes?”

“Thats-!” Holy shit is that a yes! “Yes! Major, yes! I’d be honored!”

Hudson is squeezing my hand and the Major’s eyes drop to that joining before he looks up at him; “Oh, and don’t think I don’t have plans for you too, Banks.”

Hudson frowns; “Sir?”

“We want you in D.C. too, actually. We’re starting up a new panel on VA affairs and post-combat aftercare, and we need a chairman.”

Hudson chuckles quietly and shakes his head; “Sir, I appreciate the honor, but I don’t think I’m the man who-“

“William Archer and I were quite close, Mr. Banks,” Major Lawson looks pointedly at Hudson; “Quite close.”

“Sir, I-“

“Son, I’ve seen war on three different continents, and after the shit-show you boys saw over there in that damned desert, I’m amazed you came back alive at all.” Hudson closes his mouth, and as I squeeze his hand, I feel him respond back.

Major Lawson looks at Hudson and nods; “What I’m trying to say is, son, I know about all the other stuff that came after, and I’m here today to tell you that I don’t really give a shit about all that. You’re a hell of a Marine, an even more impressive leader, and one of the strongest men I’ve known. I want you working where you can help.” He winks; “And seeing as I’m pretty much in charge of military records, I think we can go right ahead and gloss over those other things.”

Hudson is staring at him like he’s just handed him the keys to the world, and all I want to do is jump into his arms right there and kiss him.

The Major nods towards me and grins at him; “Just so long as you keep looking after William’s girl here.”

Hudson turns and looks right into my eyes, his grin wide and his shoulder looking free of a weight that he’s had on them forever; “Always, sir.”

We of course wait until the Major leaves before I let myself all into Hudson’s arms and into his kiss; “Always, huh?”

“Yeah,” He says, smirking at me; “Always.”

We don’t now if it’s a boy or a girl yet, but we’ve got either William or Christine picket out for names after my Dad and his Mom. I know Hudson’s pretty excited at the idea of having a little girl, but I’ve told him that there are plenty of Archer girls already without adding one more little probable spit-fire to the mix.

It was a small wedding with basically just the immediate families; my two sisters and my Aunt Kelly on one side, and the two guys who are for all intents and purposes his brothers on the other. We asked Major Lawson to walk me down the aisle, and Bryce ended up taking one of those online ordination classes and married us right there in the gardens of my father’s house. We were barely pregnant at the wedding, but that didn’t mean there weren’t plenty of jokes about the “shotgun” nature of it, especially after Logan told me the story of my Dad literally breaking up an arranged wedding in Angola between some local warlord and this poor child of a girl with an actual shotgun. Turns out my Dad was kind of a bad-ass, which kind of makes the tattooed, scarred up, ex-mercenary, ex-drinker, ex-playboy of a Marine who’s now my husband make a whole lot of sense, if you subscribe to that weird Freudian stuff.

I can’t say the aftermath of the blowout with Donald and my telling everyone about Hudson and I was all a fairy-tale ending, because that’s just not real life. Donald did end up suing Hudson, who ended up having to settle for some not-that-crazy-amount - well, for him - out of court to avoid criminal charges. Of course, after that he used every considerable connection he had to make sure Donald didn’t work in politics ever again, so I hope the $40,000 or so that he walked away with was worth it. And I did take a hit in the polls after the announcement about the two of us; guess some people have a problem with other people’s happiness. I still won though, by some almost record-breaking numbers, and on the next term, I was sworn in as the youngest State Senator in New York history. The victory was only made sweeter when we got wind of a massive lawsuit being leveled at Chet by three of his staffers for sexual misconduct.

I’m due in two months, so I’m of course as big a fucking whale these days. But for some insane reason I still can’t believe, my hunk of a husband still seems to find me irresistible, and he’s still trying to start things with me in public that we should not be doing in public. I know even as excited as he is, he’s worried about having kids just because of his own upbringing and the stuff he’s witnessed in the world. But I know he’s going to be an amazing father. I think the fund we’e recently started up to rebuild schools in Afghanistan is helping too; helping him work through some of things he saw over there.

After the baby, I’ll be taking some maternity leave before I finish up my term with New York, and then I’m putting my career into Major Lawson’s hands; both of us are actually. We’re excited for whatever comes next, and since we’ve got each other, I know what does come is going to be something amazing that we face together. The things you care about are the things worth fighting for. We’ve both fought for what we care about, and somehow against all the odds, we’ve found our happy ending.

Sign up for my discreet newsletter; I promise I'll never spam you! Be the first to know of new releases at limited time discount prices, author giveaways, and a chance for a FREE copy of my next book as a member of the Aubrey Irons Advanced Reader Copy team!

Click here or use the following link to sign up now!

http://eepurl.com/bu3-3P

Thanks so much for reading, and for supporting an independent author!

Contact!

I love hearing from readers!

Email: AubreyIronsAuthor@gmail.com

Website: www.AubreyIrons.com

Facebook

Twitter: @AubreyIrons

Mailing List

About The Author

Aubrey Irons enjoys writing about bold, sassy, and intelligent women and the hot, cocky, and quite typically forbidden alpha males who love and lust for them; gripping stories, happy endings, and enough heat to keep things extra steamy! In the real world, Aubrey is kept plenty entertained by her own tattooed Marine husband, their precocious and adorable three year old, and one very ill-behaved puppy.

Table of Contents

Untitled Document

Author's Copyright

Dedication

Table of Contents

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Mailing List

Contact

About The Author