"But how do you stay with him? I've seen the way he doesn't even look at you at home. It's like you don't exist."
"I owe it to my father to make this marriage work. It goes beyond just Michael and I, you know. Like I said, a lot of people are depending on me. And besides, Michael isn't a bad man. I don't have a terrible life with him."
"So, you're saying you're happy living in the same house with a man who doesn't love you? A man who refuses to show you the affection you deserve? A man who won't so much as touch you?"
As soon as I say that, I regret it. I know I've struck a sensitive nerve because there's a pained look on her face.
Instead of answering my questions, she says, "You're young, so much younger than I am. What could we possibly have in common, in the grand scheme of it all? And besides, you're my son. Albeit, my stepson, but can't you understand that this is an impossible situation that we've found ourselves in?"
Of course she's right. I fucking know she's right, but it kills me to admit it. I hate it. Instead of responding, I let her words sit in my mind and I look ahead and listen as my stepfather wraps up his speech, driving home his point even further, "Instead of just talking about family values, let's start really valuing those closest to us and make a difference in the generations to come. As your Mayor, I promise to uphold these values both publically and privately, and together, I know we will bring the real meaning of family back to modern families here in New York."
Hearing him say these things is almost unbelievable. I know as soon as he gets home tonight, he won't heed his own advice. He won't so much as look at Jocelyn and I. He'll have the TV on, or disappear into his study. I watch as he waves to his supporters again amid cheers, and then steps away from the podium. Staffers are now making their rounds through the crowded room, handing out handshakes and pats on the should
ers to supporters. I see that my stepdad has his eyes on one staffer in particular, a young, dark-haired man. He must be new because I don't recognize him. He's broad chested with well manicured hair, and he stops him for a quick moment. They are standing a few feet from Jocelyn and I.
"Do you work for UPS or something?" he asks the staffer.
"I'm not sure what you mean, sir?"
"Well, I could've sworn I saw you checking out my package just now," he says in a bold and brazen tone. He's smiling so big that I can see his teeth.
"I see," the staffer says, smiling in parallel when he understands the euphemism. He seems to immediately warm up, "In that case, I just may be the delivery driver you're looking for."
I can hardly believe what I'm seeing and hearing. A minute ago, my stepdad was pointing to Jocelyn and I, talking on and on about family values, and now here he is, hitting on a staffer. Actually, I shouldn't be surprised at all. I mean, I know him all too well, but what's shocking is that he's willing to do this at a public event, and risk making himself look like an ass. I'm trying not to stare. I mean, honestly, if he wants to continue to fuck up his marriage and throw away a woman as gorgeous as Jocelyn, I say let him. I'll gladly fucking step in, but I can tell Jocelyn is hurt. She's hearing this too, and is trying to pretend as if she isn't, but it's pretty fucking obvious as we continue to hear him. It only confirms what I've already told her—Michael is gay.
The staffer extends his arm and ever so slightly brushes his hand against my stepdad's suit. "By the way, I love this suit; it looks great on you, but I must admit, I'm curious to see what it would look like crumpled on the floor of your limo. My name is Kenneth, in case you don't remember… I'm sure you'll be screaming that out later."
Michael is licking his lips, and I don't mean that figuratively. He's really fucking licking his lips. He responds with a hungry smile, whispers something into the waiter's ear, which elicits another smile, and then he walks over to Jocelyn and I.
"You two go ahead and ride in the next limo together," he says, only giving us a cursory glance. "I'll go ahead and catch the one right after."
We nod, but don't respond. I mean, what's there to say? We all know what he means by that, but Jocelyn and I do as he says and proceed like nothing is amiss.
A limo pulls up within minutes. I open the door and usher her in first. She steps in, one slender, heeled foot after the other. She hasn't said a word for a while, and instead keeps looking off into the distance as if she's deep in thought, but as soon as the door closes, I watch her push up the divider that separates us from the driver. As soon as she does this, my heart begins to hammer in my chest. What's she doing?
I don't know what to say, and I honestly can't keep my eyes off of her—her perfect breasts cupped in a sexy back dress that hugs her like a second skin, and her legs that beg me to run my hands between them. Fuck, my cock is twitching just looking at her. It has a mind of it own. And then she does the unexpected; she sits right next to me, and carefully places her hand on my thigh. He right breast is nestled against my arm, and I can feel her warmth and smell her perfume—a delicate rose fragrance that only heightens her femininity. My entire body is buzzing with anticipation.
With her hand moving between the tender insides of my thighs she whispers, "Forget what I said earlier. I don't think we should take a break at all."
Jocelyn
I can’t believethat after a speech like that Michael would take the limo with that staffer of his. Family values, yeah, right; they only seem to matter when they benefit his career. But why am I surprised? Lance was right. Michael is gay, and I’m nothing but a pawn to him…
Why should I restrain myself when Michael doesn’t? If he can do whatever he wants, so can I. And that means, of course, Lance. What else? Even after telling him all about the reasons we couldn’t possibly be together, I still crave him. How could I not? After our first time together, I can barely think of anything else.
Closing the divider between the driver, and us I move closer to him in the seat, my eyes on his. I can see it all there—desire, hunger, lust. Everything that my husband denies me, his son has in excess.
I’m breathing hard already, my cheeks flushing as I realize that I won’t be able to control myself. Reaching for him, I lay my hand on top of his and squeeze his fingers gently. We’re sitting side by side, looking at our reflection in the mirror that faces us.
“Take me,” I whisper, turning into him and looking him in the eye; Lance’s lips curl upward into a slight grin and I don’t need to explain myself further. He leans into me; electricity pulsing between our lips when they press together. Both his hands are on my face, his lips brushing against me softly. “I want you to have me,” I pull back, looking into his eyes. There’s a mischievous expression on his face, one that tells me he already knew I wouldn’t be able to resist him.
“If that’s what you want,” he smiles then, his hands going to my lower back as his mouth presses against mine once more. I grab his jacket and, with all the patience in the world, take it off of him; my fingers then go to his collar and I start unbuttoning his shirt, anticipating how it will feel to brush my fingers over the smooth skin of his chest.
“It’s what I need,” I tell him as I come up for air. Sliding his hand under the opening in my dress, he rests the tip of his fingers over the dimples in my lower back, in that narrow patch of naked skin just before my thong. A shiver goes up my spine at his touch, my mind burning as I succumb to desire. So what if it’s wrong? What if it’s scandalous? Sometimes we all need a bit of scandal in our lives. Particularly if it involves someone as young and handsome as Lance.
His fingers go around my hips and he rests them over my waist, tracing the contour of my thong as he goes. My heart is already beating fast, and it’s not because of lust and desire. Sure, there’s that too, but somehow it’s different now. It’s something more powerful, more… wickedly sinful. As we touch, the alchemy of our bodies turns wrong into right, forbidden into mandatory.
I finish unbuttoning his shirt and brush my fingers over the hard lines of his abs, tracing their contour as if I’m taking measures. I let my hands climb up to his chest and then they go to his neck; his own hands go up my side and, grabbing my face gently, he parts his lips and slowly brushes his tongue against mine.