The Dirty Ones

“So…” Connor says. “What do we do?”

I smile at him from my couch. “What you always do, Con.”

“Who’s writing it down?”

“No one,” I say. “Not this time. This time it’s just…” But I can’t fill in the blank. I’m young, and embarrassed, and even though the things I’ve witnessed and done in this room over the past nine months should’ve cured me of any lingering childhood shyness, I feel shy.

“Just what?” he asks. “Your turn?”

I shrug, eyes tracking him as he gets up off his couch and walks across the well-worn Persian rug to sit next to me. “You wanted a night alone with me?” he asks.

I look him in the eye when I say, “Wouldn’t you?”

He grins, his hands already on my body. Already squeezing my breasts. That sweet spot between my legs is already throbbing with desire when a finger slides against it, pressing down and moving in small circles.

I close my eyes, confident that this is right when I reach for his hard cock and squeeze it through the fabric of his pants.

His mouth finds mine in that same moment. Open, hungry, tongue inside me. It’s a kiss of lovers who know each other well. And we do. We’ve done this lots of times, just never alone.

I’m breathing hard. My fingers fumble with the button, then stumble over his zipper, but he’s not having any problems finding his way underneath my panties. And the wetness I’ve been saving for this moment spills out onto his fingertips as he pushes them inside me, thrusting with an urgency I’ve only dreamed about.

“I was hoping for this,” he says, talking into our kiss.

“Me too,” I whisper back.

“Did you ask for a night with Bennett and Hayes too?”

I don’t even freeze up at the question. And my answer is truthful. “No.”

This excites him more. And when I pull his cock free of his pants, he’s so thick and stiff, I want to do things to that cock. Dirty things. Kiss the tip. Put my mouth around it and suck. Take him deep into my throat.

But he’s not ready to move on to that. Not yet. Because he pushes me backwards. Hard, making me bounce into the soft cloud-like cushions of the comfy couch, and then he roughly tugs my panties down, throws my legs over his shoulder, and opens them up. A gleam of mischief in his eyes. A wry, slanted smile cutting across his face. Grinning as he lowers himself between my thighs and licks me with one long sweep of his tongue.

I buck my back, not ready for the sensations that flood my body.

He eats me out like a hungry animal. Like he’s been waiting for this opportunity as long as I have.

This is right, I internalize. This isn’t the dirty game. That’s what we play when we’re together with Sofia and the others. This is something different. Something real. Something outside of all those other nights. Apart, and special, and good.

I think that the whole time he licks my pussy. The whole time I suck his cock. The whole time he fucks me. Even after we’re done, when he’s getting dressed. I think it as he zips his pants and adjusts his shirt. When he grins at me one last all-knowing time and disappears down the stairs.

But I stay in the tower. Hours longer. Writing down every detail. Reliving every single moment in my head and transferring it to the book where it won’t be lost. Hoping one day, through some miracle, he reads it.

Then praying he doesn’t.

I wake up in the real world with his real hands on my real body.

I reach for him, tugging him down next to me, fully aware that everything I’ve done is about to come back and kick my ass. But not caring one bit.

No regrets. No apologies.

Because it will all have been worth it.

CHAPTER SEVEN – CONNOR

After Kiera goes to bed I just run all this through my head over and over on an endless loop.

I wish I could say I never saw this coming, but we knew.

We all knew what we were doing. How we were active participants in our own inevitable decline.

I just hoped it would come later than this. Not when I was still a rising star. I figured it would all explode once I was established. Once my power was consolidated and I was thoroughly addicted to it and would do anything to keep it all from unraveling.

So maybe this is better? Maybe this is a choice? Maybe even a way out of that future someone else dreamed up for me.

Maybe if I never become that self-absorbed, power-hungry political hack the world will be a better place?

Maybe whoever did this to us understands me better than I understand myself?

Maybe they’re actually trying to save me?

That’s some altruistic fuckery on their part, for sure. But in the end, will I be a better person if I never enter the world of global puppeteers?