No, what really riles me more than anything else is that Michael gets to go have his fun while the one man that I want—that I crave—is out of my reach. The one man…
“Lance, my son,” Michael booms and just hearing that name snaps me back to reality. I don't really care what crock of bullshit Michael’s feeding them. I want Lance. I want his arms around me. I want him squeezing me against his hard body. I want to feel his giant cock pulsing against my pussy as he grabs my ass and squeezes it. I want that salty semen of his to fill me up, like it has so many times. I want to ride him until he makes me cum and the world’s problems melt away.
And then afterwards, I want him to hold me as I bask in contented satisfaction. In his arms, I know that I was happy.
“Lance,” Michael continues. “Couldn’t be here today, because he's doing some important work for the campaign in the Bronx, but I’m sure that even he would agree that his life has turned around greatly since he’s come home and had the stability of family.”
Now that’s a low blow. Michael not only neglected his stepson to the point where Lance acted out. But now he’s taking credit for Lance’s turnaround?
You know what, I really don’t care anymore. I miss the man who's the love of my life. But I can’t be with him because I’m blackmailed into staying in a loveless marriage. To have a baby for a man that’s hiding his identity from the world.
“Lance would be the first person to agree that a happy, trusting, and honest home is what makes him successful,” Michael says.
I can’t help but scowl. There are times that I hate this man. They seem to be happening more and more frequently. If there was only some way to get out of…
“Not liking what you hear?” a voice whispers into my ear.
It’s too low to be caught by the crowds or the cameras.
I turn around slightly to see Kenneth standing next to me.
My first thought is if it looks odd that Kenneth is talking to me during Michael’s speech. But after doing plenty of these campaign stops I realize that form the crowd it’ll only look like logistical discussions between members of the campaign. They’re fixated on Michael’s oratory. Not on me.
“Did you not hear me, Mrs. Anders?” Kenneth asks again. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of the Mayor.”
Now my body freezes. I don’t know if it’s fear. Kenneth isn’t one to inspire fear. He’s more catty than anything else. But there is caution. And wariness. Whereas Lance could kill someone if he got angry enough, I know Kenneth could meticulously plan their complete destruction.
“Your posture is telling me that you can not only hear me, but that I’m right,” Kenneth says and this time I turn toward him.
“What do you want, Kenneth?” I hiss u
nder my breath. I can hear the audience break out into cheers and applause at one of Michael’s lines and I only hope that I wasn’t supposed to be smiling and waving.
But the moment passes and Michael continues on. Kenneth simply looks at him. “I want what’s mine,” he says to me. “I want to be with the man I’ve fallen in love with, and the man you’re trying to take away with that fake pregnancy of yours.”
“What makes you think this baby is fake, Kenneth?” I ask him.
He smiles at me sardonically. “Silly rabbit, I know you’re really pregnant, but I know that’s not Michael’s baby.”
Now the hairs are rising on the back of my neck. If Kenneth knows that this child isn’t Michael’s then who else knows. And if Michael thinks I told, then all bets are off. He’ll go after dad as easily as he throws away garbage.
The look must be translating across my face because Kenneth lowers his voice.
“Relax, Jocelyn,” he says to me. “No one gossiped, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
It is. But if no one has been gossiping, then who could…
“As far as everyone knows, you and Michael are in so much fucking love,” Kenneth says. “And you're expecting that child like two proud and happy parents. It makes me sick.”
How does Kenneth know?
“And in case you were wondering, I heard about your baby straight from the horse’s mouth,” Kenneth says, his eyes traveling to Michael. There’s an inescapable look of lust in them. Michael has just finished a line and the crowd is clapping again. He turns his head slightly and sees Kenneth and I speaking. “That’s right. Straight from the horse’s mouth. As he was fucking me doggy.”
I cringe at the thought of my husband having pillow talk with this man. He’s so fucking slimy.
“And Michael told me it was a secret, sure,” Kenneth says, gently touching me on the arm. But there’s no warmth to it, despite what it may look to the crowd. “But I don’t like it.”
At last, I get the courage to reply back.