Chapter Text
“Finally, the silver-tongued senator from South Carolina is putting that mouth to good use.” Celebrían ran her fingers through his carefully coiffed waves roughly, in a way she knew his hair and makeup team would hate. “And here I thought I was going to have to listen to you talk about policy all night.”
He rucked her light blue tweed skirt up to her hips, slowly rolling her pantyhose down her thighs. “That is typically what happens at a presidential debate, Celebrían.”
And god, she shouldn’t love the way her name sounded from his smug mouth, but still a shiver ran up her spine when he pressed that mouth into her thigh, inching higher as his fingers dug into her hips.
And then he showed her exactly what he could do with that tongue of his, her back digging into the metal of the supply shelf when he decided to stop teasing her.
“Your opposition research tactics are a little…mmm,” she whined, pulling at his hair, pulling him closer.
“A little what?”
“Dirty.”
“Oh darlin’, you haven’t seen dirty yet.”
And then the smug bastard proved his point, twice, and when she came, it was on his tongue, her legs shaking when he stood, straightening his jacket.
Wrapping a hand around his pink checkered tie, she yanked him toward her, and at least he had the decency to set her skirt back to rights while he kissed her. He groaned when her lips moved to his neck, when her teeth scraped against the tender skin behind his ear. “Don’t you dare get lipstick on my collar again, or Míriel might actually kill me.”
“She would be doing me a favor.” Her mouth hovered just above his collar, a threat.
“You keep telling yourself that, sugar.” He dragged her lips back to his. “If it makes you feel better.”
Her hands fumbled with his belt, and they definitely didn’t have time for this, but he needed to stop talking.
“You’re just the typical ambitious young politician, freshly thirty five and thinking you’re ready to run the country.”
He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, rubbing at her smudged lipstick. “Would it be so bad to have someone in the White House who wasn’t past retirement age?”
She shoved his chest. “My mom is not that old, asshole.”
He gripped her by the hips, turning her around until the metal of the shelf dug into her stomach, and god, she loved the sting of it. “You know I didn’t mean it that way, you brat.” His voice was hot on her ear as he shoved her skirt up to her hips again, burying himself in her heat with one rough stroke.
“I’m just saying, it’s well past time that this country elected a smart, competent woman to take care of things.”
“You don’t have to sell me on the finer points of her policy,” he grunted, moving inside her. “I know her every position by heart at this point. Not so different from my own,” his hips snapped against hers, “I’d like to point out.”
Her head fell back against his chest, his body fitted so tightly to hers, singing with every rough thrust of his hips. “Please don’t talk about my mother when you’re inside me.”
“You started it.” He snaked a hand around her leg, rubbing at her clit.
And she should hate him, should hate the mouthy, smug bastard, but it was nearly impossible to hate him when he fucked her like this, filled her so well. “God, please,” she whined, and he obliged her, fucking her harder, faster, until bottles of cleaning supplies were rattling on the shelves and her cunt clenched around him, pleasure pulsing, radiating through her as he continued to move inside her. Each stroke heightened that stupid, wonderful, tingly feeling until he collapsed against her back, spilling inside her.
They stayed like that for a moment, and for a moment, there was nothing between them but this.
But then he slipped out of her. Zipped up his pants, notched his belt.
“She would make a better president,” she said, a low blow when his cum was dripping down her thighs.
“I know,” he said, cleaning her up with a towel from the shelf. “That’s why I plan to vote for her.”
“You make it so hard for me to hate you when you say shit like that.”
He grinned, looking every bit the handsome, charming Southern boy he was. “That’s why I do it.” And then he winked at her. Winked.
God, she hated him.
She fixed her pantyhose, pulled her skirt back down. Smoothed her hair.
Checking his watch, he winced, and she knew his campaign manager would be furious when she found him. Nori would give her a hard time about her smudged lipstick, and she wouldn’t even be on the main stage.
“Wish me luck,” he said, ducking down to kiss her forehead.
She straightened his tie when he pulled back, rubbing a hint of pink away from his lips. “Never.”
He grinned, entirely unbothered by her vehemence, and looking every bit the charming presidential candidate the country was about to see on CNN.
She really, really hated him.
***
“There you are!” Galadriel said, flipping through notecards with talking points she had almost definitely already committed to memory. The vibrant blue suit set off her mother’s hair, the most enviable shade of blonde, one she had thankfully inherited. “I was about to send Elrond off in search of you.”
She looked across the room, sheepishly meeting her mother’s campaign manager’s eyes. Sorry, she mouthed, and she could be mistaking it, but it definitely seemed like there was something knowing in his gaze as Nori touched up her lipstick.
Nori smirked at her, sharpening the smudge at the corner of her lips. “What poor staffer am I going to find with lipstick on his collar later this evening?”
“Wouldn't you like to know?” She teased, thanking her friend for making her look camera ready.
She watched her mother, pacing, flipping through those notecards. She wasn’t nervous; she never got nervous. She looked strong and powerful, and Celebrían could not be more proud of how badass her mom was.
“They’re ready for the family interview,” Elrond said, gesturing for them to follow him out of the greenroom.
She sat down beside her mother, precisely where instructed, and smiled and spoke her mother’s praise, highlighting a few policy areas she knew would appeal to the younger demographic. He was generally seen as favored in that area, for reasons she was annoyed made sense to her. He was young, passionate, competent and maybe not that bad to look at. And as he had pointed out, his policy positions were solid, meaning their debates were much more nuanced than the ones in years past.
And she could feel it, when he walked into the room, feel the way the crowd responded to him, feel the weight of his gaze on the back of her neck when he followed his team to the debate stage. But she didn’t let him pull her focus, wrapping up her last response so she and her father could take their seats.
He shook her mother’s hand, before the broadcast started, and he really needed to stop being so decent, because it was making it harder for her to hate him as ubiquitously as she wanted to. And he didn’t wait for the cameras to roll for that charming grin to take up residence on his face. She wondered how much of it was a character he was putting on—an effort to be what the people wanted. Wondered if he did that with her.
Knew he didn’t.
And it shouldn’t be so goddamn hot, how smart and well-spoken he was. She crossed her legs, doing her best to ignore the wetness pooling between her thighs, to focus on what he was saying, rather than the way his drawl lingered just slightly on certain syllables. And maybe she wanted to hear that drawl luxuriate in the syllables of her name as he moved inside her, and that was no one’s business but hers.
After, when she went to find her mother backstage, she found him talking to Elrond, the two of them laughing easily. As though they were friends. She would have to speak to Elrond about fraternizing with the enemy. Which would be more than a little hypocritical coming from her, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Elrond.” She put a hand on his arm, so rudely interrupting them without so much as a greeting to the senator. “Wanna get Thai tonight and go over the post-debate polls?”
He looked between them, but wisely didn’t say anything about her rudeness. She had established early on in the campaign that she did not like him, and she had certainly made it known to her mother’s opposition. But as always, he seemed entirely unbothered, flashing her a knowing, charming smile in that annoying way of his.
“Yeah, that sounds good, Cel.” He placed his hand over hers on his arm, and for a moment, she thought she saw something less than friendly flash in Ereinion’s eyes, but it was gone before she could think about what it might have meant. “Yours or mine?”
“Mine. In an hour?”
He nodded. “I’ll see you then.”
Ereinion looked at her then. “Nice to see you again, Celebrían. It is Celebrían, right?” As though he hadn’t murmured it into her cunt a few hours before in a supply closet. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to fuck him against the nearest wall or strangle him with the curtain rope.
“A pleasure as always, Gil,” she said, because she knew he hated that. And then she left them to go congratulate her mother on a stellar performance, wondering what she had been trying to prove to him or to herself.
***
This really was not a good idea. Because she hadn’t invited him. Because, as she had told him many times before, she hated him. And they didn’t do this . But Elrond had insisted, saying that if they just sat down and had a conversation about something other than politics, they might actually like each other.
The problem wasn’t that he didn’t like her.
But he didn’t tell Elrond that, and that was how he ended up standing in front of a white door marked 3C in wrought gold script, holding a plastic bag with cartons of pad thai by his side.
“This really isn’t—”
Elrond knocked, cutting off his protest.
And when she opened the door, there was a moment where she smiled and then “what is he doing here?”
Elrond sighed. “Is that any way to greet a guest, Celebrían?” He pushed past her into her apartment, like he felt at home here enough to do so, leaving Ereinion standing alone with the food.
She looked like she was seconds away from stealing the bag from his hand and slamming the door in his face, but she rolled her eyes instead and said, “well, come on in, then.”
He didn’t really know what to say, so he just nodded, taking a few steps into her apartment. It was nice and very her —simple, classic, cute. Well, nothing about her was simple, unless he was buried inside her; that was the simplest thing in the world. He set the bag down on the counter, careful to keep his expression neutral. Careful not to watch her legs as she stretched up to get plates from the cabinet. Because Elrond was observant, and he wouldn’t want to give her mother’s campaign manager something to use against him.
That had been a blow, when he’d asked his college friend to manage his campaign only to find out he had already taken a job for this cycle, with Galadriel Noldor. He hadn’t taken it as any sort of betrayal, of course. He was proud of his friend, even if he was making him work that much harder; they were running one hell of a campaign. And it sucked, not getting to spend as much time together as they had in the past, but the optics. Everything was about optics.
And the optics of this…
Miríel would have a field day if she knew where he was right now. Who he was with. It made him wonder what Elrond had been thinking, bringing him over here. But Elrond didn’t appear to be scheming, and there wasn’t much this could be spun into other than a dinner between friends who happened to be on opposite sides of an election campaign. He was being naïve. He knew that, but he didn’t care.
“We usually don’t bother with plates,” she said, setting the stack on the counter beside him, “but since we have a guest…”
“I’m really not a fancy guy.” He loosened his tie then ripped open the bag rather unceremoniously.
“Sure, and that’s not a $6,000 suit.”
“Fair enough,” he laughed, because she wasn’t wrong, handing her a pair of chopsticks. And he certainly felt overdressed compared to her, swallowed up in an oversized Harvard crewneck that he was almost certain was Elrond’s, because he knew she had gone to Northeastern. He wondered again if there was more to their relationship than casual dinners and campaign talk, if he should be feeling guilty for something. But Elrond hadn’t told him he was seeing her, though he could understand why he wouldn’t. There was a slight conflict of interest there, him being an employee of her mother and all. So it could be a secret, but if that were the case, why would Elrond invite him here?
And why did he care that she was wearing Elrond’s sweatshirt? Why did he want to know what she would look like wearing one of his and nothing else, silver hair fanned out in a halo across his pillow, and…
Nope. Not what this was.
He followed her to the couch where Elrond had already made himself comfortable, jacket tossed over the back and iPad on his lap. They had decided to forgo the plates, setting the cartons down on the coffee table. A very casual affair. He wasn’t used to that, with others. He ate alone most nights, if he remembered to eat at all. He was, however, used to the screens, the discussion about talking points and reception and adjustments. It was strange however to hear the other side of it, not that they were going too much into depth, just reviewing polls from audience members and viewers at home, gauging impressions and metrics after the debate.
It had gone well, he thought, for both of them, and like the other one, the numbers showed no clear frontrunner.
“I liked what you said about increasing funding and access to public housing,” she said through a mouthful of noodles, and he was not sure if he was more surprised she had been listening to him or that she was paying him a compliment, begrudging as it was.
“Yeah, you did surprisingly well with young liberals tonight.” Elrond set an empty carton on the edge of the table. “I’m gonna have to do something about that.”
“That sounds sinister.” Celebrian smirked. “Can I help?”
He shouldn’t laugh, but did, if only to keep from calling her a brat, which she was definitely doing on purpose if the challenging glint in her eyes was any indication. He would have to punish her for that later.
“Do go easy on me, old friend, or I shall have to tell the world about that one time in undergrad when you—”
“No need for that,” Elrond interrupted him, finally putting the screen down.
Celebrian folded her legs up beneath her, “On the contrary. I think I need to hear all about the trouble Elrond got into as a Harvard boy.”
“There’s really nothing to tell,” Elrond sighed, clearly exasperated with the two of them, that this was the issue they managed to be on the same side of.
“That’s perfect, really, because I’m in the mood to talk about nothing.” She turned to him expectantly, and he told her all about their college days, about that one time Elrond loosed a flock of roosters in their poli sci professor’s office with a note tied to one of them that read “you’re in good company” when it came out that more than a couple female students accused him of inappropriate behavior and he got off with little more than a warning. The department smelled like chicken shit for weeks after that, but it had been worth it.
Celebrian laughed, with pride and disbelief. “Subtle, Elrond.”
“He’s always been the more measured of the two of us,” Elrond laughed. “I knew then that I wouldn’t make a good politician. But this guy,” Elrond clapped him on the shoulder. “This guy wrote a very strongly worded letter to the head of the department, attached it to a petition signed by hundreds of students, and the next day, professor chickenshit was off the tenure track and out of a job.”
He might have been imagining it, but he thought there was something like admiration in her eyes when she looked at him, and not even the begrudging kind. Definitely must have been imagining it.
Elrond’s phone rang and he answered it instantly when he caught sight of the caller ID. “Yeah.” He nodded, and Ereinion could see the wheels spinning in his friend’s head. “Okay.” He stood, tossing his jacket over his shoulder, mouthing something that looked like an apology before he headed to the door. “Yeah, I’ll be right there,” he said into the phone, and then the door closed behind him.
***
She was going to kill Elrond tomorrow. What had he been thinking, bringing him here? So, maybe he wasn’t that bad, which, if she was honest with herself, she would admit she’d known for a while, but he shouldn’t be here, in her home, next to her on the couch.
Because they didn’t do this.
She stood, gathering the trash to take to the kitchen, hoping he would take the hint. And after she dried her hands on the towel beside the sink, she found him standing by the counter, jacket folded over his arm. He’d rolled up his sleeves earlier, and it was not something she should have noticed, but what Elrond had said about metrics for women over 60 had gone right over her head because she had been too busy staring at his goddamn forearms, tanned skin dusted with dark hair. The way those long lines led to strong hands with deft fingers, curled around his chopsticks as he’d laughed about something Elrond had said. She’d shifted, tucking her legs beneath herself when she remembered exactly what he could do with those hands. The way his fingers had crooked inside of her, his other hand covering her mouth so no one would hear how she fell apart for him in a bathroom stall at the Capitol after the press conference announcing her mother had won the Democratic primary.
“I should get going,” he said, pulling her out of her more lurid recollection and back into whatever it was that was happening now. She lifted her eyes to his, mostly so she would stop drooling over his hands. “Thanks for this. It was nice.”
And yeah, maybe it had been nice, and maybe he wasn’t the worst guy she’d met in DC, and maybe she didn’t need to hate him, and maybe…
“Did you really get that creep fired?”
He laughed, hand stilling on the doorknob. “Elrond oversimplified it a little bit, but yeah, he got—”
She pushed the door closed, pushed him up against it. Stretched to the tip of her toes—because he was so annoyingly tall—and kissed him.
They didn’t do this, but he was a good man who fucked her like she’d been a bad girl, and right now, that’s exactly what she wanted. Needed.
His jacket fell to the ground, his arms wrapping around her back, pulling her closer. He kissed her like it was instinct, as though he had been made to do it, and she was so wrapped up in him that she didn’t notice he was moving her until her back hit the wall, his hand cupping the back of her head to protect from the impact, to draw her mouth closer. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her sweatshirt, hot on the skin of her waist.
“Is this Elrond’s?” he asked, lips trailing up her neck.
She pulled his mouth back to hers, needing him not to be talking. About this in particular. “If I say yes will you still fuck me against this door?”
He groaned into her mouth, hands moving higher. “Yes.”
“But you’d feel guilty about it?”
His thumb brushed over her nipple and her spine arched toward him of its own volition. “Would I need to?” He looked at her then, a question in his eyes. They didn’t do this, talk about things that mattered. Talk at all, really. She wasn’t sure she liked it.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
She didn’t want to think about how much she liked how possessive the “good” that rumbled across her lips was. Didn’t want to think about anything other than his hands, teasing her, claiming her. She whined when they slipped out from beneath Elrond’s sweatshirt, but then he pulled it up and over her head, tossing it on the floor beside his jacket. They didn’t do this, either, take off their clothes. It was always hurried and desperate, and this? She was naked from the waist up, but it was his gaze—hungry and something softer—which stripped her bare.
He cupped her waist, hands hot and biting, sliding up her sides, his tongue brushing hers. Then his mouth was on her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her breast. Her every nerve stood at attention for every centimeter his lips shifted; she was entirely at his mercy and he knew it, torturing her with the slow sweep of his lips.
And when his lips brushed her nipple, already peaked from the chill of the air and his touch, she wound her fingers through his hair, once more messing up the carefully slicked back waves. Her back arched toward him again when he circled the rosy bud with his tongue, sucked it into his mouth.
She whined, hands fumbling with his belt. Because he needed to hurry the fuck up and get inside her. This was another thing they didn’t do, take their time. He was dangerous when it was hurried in a bathroom stall, in a supply closet; he might just be fatal if she let him take his time.
She slipped a hand into his undone pants, wrapped it around him, felt him groan into her skin. And since he had teased her, she thought it only fair to return the favor, stroking him slowly, as though he wasn’t already hard in her hand.
“Fuck me, Celebrían.” He held her face between his hands, pressed her back into the door as he kissed her.
“I’m trying,” she murmured against his lips, “but you’re being difficult, as always.”
He tugged at the waistband of her leggings, pushed them down her thighs. “Why don’t we simplify it, then?” And when her leggings were discarded on the floor with the rest of her clothes, he hoisted her up so her legs were wrapped around his waist and slotted himself inside her.
And fucking hell, he shouldn’t feel this good, but it was like she was seeing stars as her back slid against the door with every stroke, every thrust of his hips. And his hands bit into the underside of her thighs, her hips, lips moving over every stretch of skin he could reach. And every inch of her skin was on display for him, every inch of her bared to him in a way she certainly had never intended. Because even though he was fucking her like he always did, there was something so intimate about him pressed against her naked body, even if he was more or less still fully clothed. A situation she would need to rectify later, after—
“God, Ereinion, yes,” she moaned, her nails digging into his shoulder, because she was so close and she just needed him to—
He drove into her, drove her back into the door, his pace punishing and perfect and she’d never said his name before, like that, but she could tell he liked it. A lot, if the groan that echoed against her throat was any indication. Her back thudded against the door with his every stroke—hard, fast, and so deep he felt like a part of her—and it was so good, so fucking good, and she was right on the edge and—“fuck, Ereinion,” she whined, crashing over into oblivion, clenching so hard around him as he continued to fuck up into her until she was nothing but a babbling mess, moaning against his lips.
It wasn’t fair, that he could reduce her to this, but right now, she didn’t care; she never wanted him to stop. Once should have been enough, but with every rough thrust of his hips, pleasure continued to build, until finally, inevitably, it exploded into a conflagration of pure bliss that spread like wildfire through her, and when he followed shortly after, grunting into her shoulder, his cock buried so deep inside her, the flames consumed her entirely.
They stayed like that for a moment, clinging to each other. And then slowly he slipped out of her and her back slid down the door. And without thinking, she pulled him to her in a kiss, justifying it to herself that she only needed his weight against her so she didn’t fall, because her legs weren’t exactly working right now. There was no other reason for it, except that maybe she just liked kissing him, and how could she do anything else when the only thought in her mind was him?
And he didn’t seem to mind, his hands framing her face, slipping into her hair. He kissed her gently, in a way that felt more like one would be kissed after a first date, not after being fucked up against a door. She wondered where his go-to first date spot was. If he had taken anyone there lately. Decided she didn’t much like the idea of that. Decided she definitely shouldn’t be feeling that way. Deepened the kiss.
He pulled her closer, held her so tightly that she probably had indents down her chest to match the buttons on his shirt. His hands were warm on her back, on her sides, and maybe she just really liked his hands on her, maybe—
She pulled back, the tip of her nose touching his. “You kiss me like that again,” she said, “and I might just fall in love with you.”
He lifted his hands to her face again, fingers stroking over her jaw, her cheek. His thumb brushed over her lower lip. It might have been a threat, but it wasn’t a very convincing one. Or maybe the problem was that it was too convincing. His breath washed over her lips, teasing her. He leaned toward her, a fraction of an inch.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she whispered, lips brushing against his.
A hand curled around the back of her neck, as possessive as his voice when he said, “watch me,” and then he kissed her again. And she knew there wasn’t anybody else, knew that he didn’t want there to be. Didn’t know what to do with that, so she just kissed him, until she could hardly breathe, until her body sang with need for him again.
She pushed him away, because this was getting a little confusing. A little complicated.
“How is it fair that I’m the only one naked here?”
He looked at her then, from head to toe and then back again, taking the time to appreciate every inch of her skin that was on display for him. His gaze was all filthy admiration and something softer, something even his smug smile couldn’t hide. She didn’t want to think about it.
“How is it fair that you look as good as you do?” He took a step closer, nostrils flaring. “How am I supposed to think about anything else?” A hand curled around her waist, pulling her closer. “So if this was all some elaborate attempt to sabotage me, job well done, Celebrían.”
She shivered at the low timbre in his voice when he said her name, at the hardness she felt pressed to her stomach. Staring up at him, she reached for the buttons of his shirt. “Stop trying to distract me and take your clothes off.”
He leaned down, his breath hot on her ear. “All I’m hearing is that you’re desperate to see me naked, Celebrían.”
And then he had the audacity to laugh. To laugh.
In retaliation, she ripped through the buttons of his shirt, pushing it down over his shoulders, stopping only to unfasten his cufflinks—delicate golden stars—before throwing it on the ground. She traced a finger down his lightly tanned skin, stretched over very well-defined abs. Annoyingly well-defined. Like how did he find the time to run for president and go to the gym? And his arms… The sleeves of those finely starched Oxfords had been hiding these arms? God, it was unfair how hot he was, but he was still wearing too much. Already unzipped from before, she pulled down those sharply creased trousers, until they fell to his ankles. While she stared at him, he kicked off his shoes, kicked his pants away, until he stood before her in nothing but his socks. His lavender socks.
He tilted her chin up until she caught sight of his very smug smirk. “My eyes are up here, Celebrían.”
She curled her fingers around him, hand moving slowly over the soft silk of his shaft. “And as much as I love it when you fuck me with your eyes—” Flecks of gold flashed in those eyes, at her words, at the movement of her hand. “I was hoping for something else.”
His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, dragging it out into a pout while he gave her a knowing smirk. “And what was that?”
Exasperation flooded the air between them. “You’re really gonna make me say it?”
“Yeah, I think I will.” His lips moved to her neck, her ear. “I wanna hear you say that you’re desperate for my cock inside you. That you need me to fill you and fuck you until you’re left a whining mess and my name the only thing on your lips. Because I fucking love it when you say my name, Celebrían.”
A wave of heat rushed over her, down her spine, the slickness between her thighs a mixture of the arousal flooding her system and the remnants of his spend, still sticky from before. And god, she was desperate for him, hated that he was going to make her beg. Hated—
Her hand tightened around him, working him a bit harder, faster, pushing him toward the couch. “I hate you so much.” She shoved him down into the cushions, straddled his hips.
His hands wound around her waist, dragging her hips against his. “You used to be a better liar.”
She didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to think about anything. And so, though it grated on her pride, she begged him.
“I need you to fuck me, Ereinion.” She watched his eyes darken when she whined his name. “I need you to fuck me so hard that I can’t take a step tomorrow without thinking of you.” She wrapped her hand around him, guided him to her entrance. “I need you, Ereinion.” And then she sank down on him, slowly, moaning as he stretched her, filled her.
And he didn’t take his time with her, fucking up into her as she rode him, her clit dragging against him with every roll of her hips, lips messy on her tits as they bounced in his face. “You are so hot like this, Cel,” he rumbled into her chest. “You feel so good.”
She moaned, the familiarity and his cock doing unspeakable things to her right now. Leaning down until they were chest to chest, her heart pounding against his, she continued to move against him, the angle increasing the friction between them, his every stroke hitting her exactly where she wanted him. “Ereinion,” she whined, his eyes burning into hers before he claimed her mouth once more, hands on her hips to drag her filthily against him, just as she wanted. And it felt so good, like he had sparked a fire to life inside her and she was eagerly waiting for it to burn, to envelop her completely. She needed it to. Needed him. “Fuck, baby, just like that. Please.” She was so close, so close, and— A moan ripped from her throat, from the base of her spine, and he swallowed it, murmuring words of praise as she fell apart against him.
He continued to move in her slowly, soothing her through her release. And when she stopped fluttering around him, he flipped them over, laid her down so his weight pressed her back into the couch. She hooked her legs around his hips and he began to move in her again in earnest, and there was something so intimate about it, the weight of his body on top of her, the warmth of his skin pressed to hers. They definitely didn’t do this, but god, it was so good—he was so good.
“Ereinion, Ereinion, oh—” The syllables of his name ran into each other as she whined it again and again, every stroke of his cock reviving the threads of pleasure that had begun to fade from her last release.
“That’s it, Cel,” he bit into her neck. “Cum on my cock again like a good girl.”
And if the way he moved in her wasn’t enough to take her there, his words certainly were, and she clung tightly to his shoulders as pleasure wracked her body anew. But he didn’t soothe her though it this time; he fucked her hard, pressing her down into the cushions until she clenched around him like a vice, milking him for every drop of his release.
“Fucking hell, Celebrían,” he muttered into her shoulder as the tension left his body, his breath coming in rough pants to match her own. They clung to each other like that, sated and breathing heavily. She felt as though she were floating even as his body weighed her down like an anchor, and she could get used to this, could get used to—
No, there would be none of that. Could be none of that. Because this couldn’t happen again after tonight. Shouldn’t even be happening tonight, but now that the floodgates had opened…
She whined when he pulled out of her, felt the slow trickle of his seed falling onto the couch beneath them, slick against the bottom of her thigh. He left her, lying on her back staring up at the ceiling, and for a moment she was certain he was going to gather his clothes, dress hastily and go. But then she heard the sink running, and he came back with a damp towel in his hand. Gently, he cleaned up the traces of himself he’d left on her. In her. And he’d done this before, but it hadn’t felt like this, and she was learning too many things about him tonight, too many things that she liked, way more than she should.
When he discarded the towel, she sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. It made no sense, but she felt more vulnerable now, sitting in her living room naked with him, than she had when he was inside her.
“I should probably get going,” he said after silence stretched from one moment to the next. He made no move to stand, no move at all.
And then she said something she shouldn’t have. “You should stay.”
“Celebrían…”
She resisted the urge to tack on “if you want” in a rush, because she wasn’t that pathetic. “Because we’re not doing this,” she motioned between them, “again after tonight.”
“No?”
“No.”
She knew it was a lie the second it came out of her mouth, and so did he, not even having the decency to pretend to be anything other than smug.
“You know, on second thought, maybe you should go.”
Amusement slipped from his expression, and he watched her carefully, like he was trying to uncover something. “Is that what you want?”
She hardly knew what she wanted anymore. And even if she put words to it, she knew she couldn’t have it.
She stretched her legs out, toes tapping against his thigh. “That’s a dangerous question.”
“Why’s that?”
The words were quiet when they slipped out, another thing she shouldn’t have said. “Because you make me want things I can’t have.”
“Celebrían—”
“Not tonight, okay?” Not ever. At least not any time in the foreseeable future.
She turned around, laid her head on his thigh, looked up at him. And he looked like he wanted to argue, but after a moment he nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay.” She let out a long breath, the tension in her body going with it. They sat like that for a while, his hand moving through her hair, scratching gently at her scalp. It nearly lulled her to sleep, his fingers carding through her messy hair. But she forced her eyes open, because she didn’t want to sleep yet.
She pulled his hand from her head, held it against her chest, right over her heart. She studied the rings on his fingers, both gold, one with a more intricate band than the other. She’d wondered about them before, in rushed moments when his fingers had been buried inside her, decided she didn’t need to know. But she was curious now, because he always had them on.
“What’s the story with these?” she asked, tracing a finger over the metal band. “I’ve never seen you without them.”
A dimple creased his cheek, wavy strands hanging over his forehead as he looked down at her. “Been paying attention to my hands, have you?”
“They’re my second favorite part of you,” she said, mostly joking.
He barked out a laugh, twining her fingers with his. “You’re never gonna let me have the last word, huh?”
“Never.” She studied the lines of his knuckles, felt the way his fingers flexed against hers. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said, the metal cool between her fingers. Because they didn’t talk about personal things.
But his hand tightened on hers, and soft sentiment replaced amusement in his smile. “They were my parents’ wedding bands,” he said, his gaze on their joined hands. “They passed when I was pretty young, so this is how I carry them with me.”
Her smile was soft as she looked up at him, fingers tracing the thick gold band on his index finger, the one that had belonged to his father. It was rather plain, a little worn, but solid. The one on his pinky, his mother’s ring, was a little more intricate, a band of golden leaves, woven together seamlessly. She kissed his knuckles, kissed his rings. “I think that’s lovely, Ereinion.” She pressed her lips to the back of his hand. “I’m sorry they’re not around to see you do this, to walk beside you. But I think they’d be pretty proud of you.”
“Celebrían.”
“I mean it! You’re quite impressive, and if it was anyone but my mom running against you, I might even vote for you.” She sat up a little bit, meeting his eye so he would know she was serious.
“You know, it’s hard to hate you when you say shit like that.”
She laughed, head falling back to his lap. “Maybe that’s why I do it.”
“Thank you,” he said softly, the hand not holding hers returned to her hair, and he ran his fingers through the length of it, fanned out over his legs. And they definitely didn’t do this, but maybe they should start.
“You know, I think that’s the first time you’ve paid me a genuine compliment."
“Well, don’t let it go to your head,” she mumbled, lips brushing his leg as she turned onto her side.
“Oh, I absolutely will. That was practically an endorsement, Celebrían.”
She scoffed. “If that’s what sounds like an endorsement to you, I’ll tell my mom she’s got this in the bag.”
He pinched her stomach. “You are such a brat.”
She stuck out her tongue at him. “Only for you, senator.”
His cock twitched at her use of his title, and she couldn’t help but smirk, because of course that would do it for him.
“Lucky me.”
“Mmm, not yet, senator. But we’ll get there.” Her lips brushed against him, and she could feel the way the muscles in his thighs tightened when her lips touched him, his fingers winding more firmly into her hair of their own volition.
“Celebrían,” he breathed, hand tightening in hers. She’d never done this before, never had him in her mouth. And if they were changing things tonight, that was something that needed to change. She wrapped her lips around the tip of him, tasting herself and him, a little briny; more than a little heady. She worked her tongue down his shaft, taking him deeper into her mouth, enjoying the way he bent so easily to her whims. She teased him for a while—because she could, because he seemed to like it. And he definitely liked it when she sucked him deep into her throat, swallowed around him. When she worked his length messily with her lips and tongue, hand stroking the base of him. The sounds of wet suction and his breathy moans rattled around in her bobbing head, music to her ears, and she could tell by the way his hand moved in her hair that he was close, that he needed more.
She shifted, moving to her knees on the floor, hands pressing into his hips as she bowed her head over him and took him into her mouth, deep and wet and filthy, letting him pull her head closer, letting him fuck her mouth.
“My god, Celebrían.” He said her name desperately, in filthy adoration. “Fuck, that feels so good.” His hips lifted a bit from the couch, chasing her mouth. “Just like that. Just like—fuck.” He didn’t quite hit the hard “k”, the word coming out on a rough sigh as he spilled down her throat, hand wound through her hair.
She was slow to release him, lips dragging up the soft silk of him as he sank back down into the couch, boneless. When she did, she looked up at him, unable to stifle the smug grin that spread across her lips. Because she had wrecked him, with only her mouth.
Standing, she plopped herself back onto the couch beside him, dropping her head on his shoulder. She took his hand again, felt the metal of his rings against her palm, because maybe she liked holding his hand.
After a moment, he let out a long sigh. “I always knew that fucking mouth of yours would be good, but goddamn, Cel.” He shifted to face her. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
She definitely had some idea. But that was quite a question. And to know he had been thinking about her, wanting her, outside of those rushed, stolen moments. That was—she couldn’t think about what that was, because she knew those thoughts would take her somewhere dangerous, make her say more things she shouldn’t.
His hand moved to her jaw, her cheek. “Can I kiss you, Celebrían?”
He was so close she could feel his breath on her lips, and he had never asked before, and there was something so soft in his eyes, so—
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I know it’s not.”
“It would be a bad decision.”
“I’ve made plenty of those tonight.”
So had she. And she really shouldn’t make another one, but she just couldn’t resist him, not when he looked at her like that. “Well, what’s another one, then?”
He closed the space between them and she melted against him at the soft press of his lips. His hand was gentle on her face as he kissed her, unhurriedly, delicately, sweetly. They absolutely, definitely did not do this, but she never wanted him to stop; she wanted to melt into him completely, to end every night with a kiss like this, and—
“Ereinion…”
She didn’t know if she was begging him to go on or telling him to stop. She knew which she should do, but it was impossible to think with his lips on hers.
“This isn’t another bad decision,” he mumbled into her mouth, groaning when her tongue brushed his, the taste of him, of them seeping into the kiss. “It’s a very, very good one.”
“Ereinion.”
And then he laid her down, the weight of his body on top of her, the gentle, passionate sweep of his lips making her think that maybe he was right.
***
He loved the way she felt, stretched out beneath him, small hands moving over his back as they kissed lazily. It could have been hours or moments that he laid there, kissing her, the best hours or moments he had spent in a long time. Her lips were soft and perfect, moving against his and he never wanted to stop this, never wanted to let her go.
But that’s not what this was, and come the morning, he would never have this again. Would never have her like this again. He couldn’t.
So he didn’t let go. He kissed her until he was dizzy and breathless and then some more, so wrapped up in her, in whatever spell she had him under. And there was something so intimate about this, skin to skin, his lips against hers. He wasn’t even inside her, and it felt like she owned him completely, taking him apart and putting him back together with every brush of her lips.
She was so dangerous, this was so dangerous, but he didn’t care, groaning when she sucked his tongue into her mouth, bit the tip of it gently, soothed it.
He pulled back, braced himself on his arms above her. “Celebrían, I want to—”
She put a hand over his mouth. “Unless the rest of that sentence is ‘fuck you,’ I don’t think I want to hear it.”
Sighing, he remembered himself. Because he had definitely been about to say something he shouldn’t, something that would complicate this more than it already was.
“I want to fuck you in your bed.” And maybe he shouldn’t have said that either, but the flash of hunger in her eyes egged him on. “I want your sheets to smell like me, to remind you when your head hits that pillow that nobody fucks you like I do.”
He watched her swallow, felt the way she shifted beneath him, affected. Took inordinate pride in that. Because even if she couldn’t be his, she was his, and he would make sure she knew it.
He settled his face in the crook of her neck, felt her pulse against his lips, the way it sped up.
“Someone’s awfully confident in himself.”
His lips moved to her ear. “How many orgasms have you had tonight?” She shoved at his chest, the petulant little brat, and he grinned down at her. “Let’s add three more for good measure. Maybe four,” he smirked, “because I know how you feel about my cock.”
Her fingers wound through his hair, pulled at it just short of too hard. “You are such a smug bastard.”
“Only for you.” And he meant it as a joke, but it felt like some sort of declaration, and for a moment there was something soft in her eyes, but it sharpened quickly to hunger.
She sat up, pushing him with her. Held his hand in hers. “I think you’re gonna need to prove it.”
“Gladly.” He nodded toward the hall. “Lead the way.”
***
His hand in hers, she brought him into her bedroom. And maybe these walls had heard her whine his name, but she never thought he’d be here to hear it. Many times over, if his confidence was deserved. She knew it was.
She pushed him down onto her bed, planted her knees on either side of his legs, trying to maintain some semblance of control, before he stole every ounce of it away. Kissed him until he fell back onto her comforter, the downy white blanket setting off his tanned skin, his dark hair. God, he was a dream in her bed, his body hard beneath hers, lips moving against hers like he was trying to memorize them, memorize this.
And then he flipped her over, pressing her down into the softness of the mattress, his kisses straying from her lips to her neck to her breasts. She looked down at him, watched him watch her as he sucked her nipple into his mouth. As his fingers trailed down to her center, toyed with her clit. So smug. She’d wipe that smug grin from his lips, after—
He licked and sucked and nibbled at her tits, tongue working in time with the strokes of his fingers between her legs, teasing her, building up her pleasure. She soaked up his every touch like sunshine, radiating with its enigmatic brightness, and happiness, and warmth.
And she came like that, laid back beneath him, and it was lazy and wonderful. He let her luxuriate in it, kissing the curve of her breast, her collarbone, her neck while his fingers slowed against her.
“One down,” she mumbled, carding her fingers through his hair.
But then he slid out of her grasp, his lips rumbling with laughter as they trailed down her stomach. “That one doesn’t count.” He pressed a kiss between her legs. “Just getting you ready for when I put my mouth on you.” Another teasing kiss. “If I’m going to drown in you, it feels only right for you to do the same.”
And god, she knew it would be good before he even really put his mouth on her, because her veins were still flooded with sunlight, every nerve still buzzing with satisfaction and now heightened awareness. It figured that he would have a strategy for this. Annoyed the hell out of her that it was probably perfect.
With the first stroke of his tongue, she knew it was, because she was already on edge, already drowning in luxurious warmth, and knew it was only going to get better. He licked at her slowly, warmth building at the base of her spine with each brush of his tongue. And it was so much more intense than moments ago, because of the sparks still singing in her limbs, in the very core of her.
“Fuck, Ereinion, your tongue,” she whined, hips lifting from the mattress to seek his mouth. And he seemed content to let her grind against his tongue like that, like he knew that was exactly where she needed him, and it was so good, warmth licking up her spine.
Her legs were tensed and shifting with her hips, and when he sucked her clit into his mouth, her back arched sharply and her breaths came in harsh pants and a string of moans. She was drowning in him—in his sunlight—just as he had promised, and she’d never felt better than this. It was out of body, but very much grounded in it, like he’d tuned her body to him and now it knew the song it had always been meant to sing. She had a feeling that song would be stuck in her head long after he was done with her.
But he wasn’t done yet, licking her through the never-ending waves of spine-tingling delight, prolonging her pleasure. His hands gripped her thighs, pulling her closer, pushing her down as she squirmed against him, her cunt pulsing and clenching around nothing, legs shaking.
“Ereinion, I can’t—” She pulled him up when she thought she might go mad from his continued touch, curled into his side when he fell, quite satisfied with himself—on his back.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she swore into his shoulder, trying to calm down, to settle her breathing, but her body was not cooperating. It didn’t want to let go of the way he’d made her feel, and Jesus fucking Christ, the way he’d made her feel…
“Are you sure you can’t go again?” He asked, shifting her boneless body until she was on top of him. “Because I need to feel you cum like that on my tongue.”
“You greedy motherfucker.” It came out as a whining laugh.
“For the record,” his hand slid from her knee up her thigh, “I do not want to fuck your mother.”
“Oh my god, if you don’t shut up…”
“You wouldn’t have to hear me say anything at all if you sat that pretty cunt on my face.” He shrugged, so smugly.
She pressed a kiss to his chest. “You are relentless.”
“Only when there’s something I really want.”
And she knew that to be true, knew it wasn’t entirely a line, because she’d seen him and the way he ran his campaign, the way he’d conducted himself when he’d been a senator. He was passionate and could be single minded if he set his mind on accomplishing something, which made him really good at his job. It also kept him from being cynical when things didn’t come easy, when people resisted necessary change. She knew all that, and still, she imagined that maybe it was her that he really wanted. Wondered what it would be like to be pursued by him, to have the full weight of his passion and his focus fixed on her. Decided that was far too dangerous a thing to even think, so she shifted her knees up his sides, straddled his chest.
“And what is it you really want, Ereinion?”
It was a dangerous question, and they had already decided not to do this, so she didn’t know why she asked, didn’t know the answer she wanted to hear. Because she wasn’t sure there was a right answer, one that would make either of them happy.
He traced the constellations of freckles across her thigh, his voice quiet when he spoke again. “I think you know, Celebrían.”
His eyes told her the truth, even if her mother had told her never to trust a man in politics. But she didn’t want to look in his eyes, to see the softness there, the sentiment. Didn’t want to hear the way his voice danced over the syllables of her name. So she shifted her knees higher, until they rested beside his ears, and she hovered over him. “I was promised at least another two orgasms.” She braced a hand against the headboard. “And you seem like a man who delivers on his campaign promises.”
He cupped her ass, pushed her closer to his mouth. “You bet your cute little butt I do.”
And then without preamble, without even the pretense of teasing her, his tongue was buried in her cunt. It was rough and rushed and desperate, just like she was used to with him, but again, it felt so much more intimate, her hips dragging over his face, his hands hard and biting on her hips. And fucking hell, it was so good, her body still humming steadily with pleasure from before, amplified with every stroke of his tongue inside her.
“So perfect, Cel.” His groan rumbled around inside her, snaked up her spine. His mouth sealed so tightly to her dripping flesh, tongue moving deeper inside her. “Mine.” She felt it more than heard it, the way he claimed her, the way he held her by the hips and fucked her with his tongue.
She clung to the headboard for dear life, moving against him desperately, something life-altering swirling at the base of her spine and she needed it, needed him. “Fuck. God. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ereinion, fuck, I’m yours. I’m yours. Fuck, I need—”
And then he claimed her in earnest, marking the deepest parts of her for himself until she was moaning obscenely and clenching so hard around his tongue. And warmth blinded her, like she’d stared too long at the sun, but it was ecstasy, an actual picture of heaven and she couldn’t look away, could only watch as it enveloped her every sense, her every nerve. It swallowed her up, flooded her veins, and it went on and on, her release gushing into his adoring mouth, soothing her through it. He lapped up every bit, greedily, his groan echoing against her cunt. “Good girl.” His tongue was gentle as it traced the shape of her, tasted her, soothed her. “That’s my good girl.”
And fuck if she didn’t love that, the possessive edge in his tone, the way that grumbled “mine” still echoed through her body. It was all too good, too much and she slipped down to his chest, collapsed against him, so incredibly satisfied and still riding a high that didn’t seem like it would ever die.
He stroked her back, the touch comforting and electrifying, because her blood still sang with sparks even though they should have burnt out by now.
“Ereinion…” His name was a mumbled mess against his chest, her voice hoarse and her body so wonderfully tired she could hardly lift her head.
His fingers moved through her hair, gentle, soothing, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You did so good, baby. So good.”
The praise warmed her blood, but the softness of it made her shy, burying her face in his chest so she didn’t have to see the pride in his eyes or the way his lips glistened with her. Because with her heart pounding and her body buzzing, she might say something she didn’t mean. Or worse, something she did. Something that was impossible, complicated. Not what this was.
So she didn’t say anything, only murmured his name lazily into his skin, clinging to him as her pleasure dulled a bit. But it didn’t go anywhere. Stuck with her like a memento, like he would after tonight. She didn’t know how she would be able to lie in her bed after this without thinking of him. Hated him a bit for that. Hated that she didn’t hate him as much as she should.
After a while she slid off of him, curled up against his side. Wondered if this is what it would be like between them if he wasn’t standing in the way of what her mother had worked so hard for, wanted so desperately. Wondered if he only wanted her because it was exciting and illicit.
And she shouldn’t ask him, because it was dangerously close to asking him how he felt about her, something she was probably better off not knowing. But she wasn’t feeling especially smart right now. Hadn’t been all night. She laced her fingers through his, lifting his hand so she could see his watch. Three a.m. Well, they’d certainly been making the most of the time. Putting off the inevitable. Because they could fuck in a closet, in a bathroom stall, hell, maybe even in a hotel room. They could have those stolen moments. But they couldn’t have this. Not right now. And he might not even want this, but she was beginning to.
She propped herself up on her elbows, looking down at him, so at home in her bed. “Ereinion, is this—?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
He pulled her face down to his, kissed her. “The answer is yes.” He rolled them over, pressed her down into the mattress. “Yes, this is a really bad idea.” Another kiss. “Yes, I want you anyway.” Another. “I have since the moment you barged into my office with that princess pout and that short fucking skirt.” A groan rattled in her throat when he deepened the kiss, likely remembering the day they’d met, what they’d done on his desk. “Yes, I wish I could hold your hand in public without causing a national scandal.” His hand, threaded through hers, rested beside her head, buried beneath the pillows. That molten, honeyed gaze burned through her, kept her from looking anywhere but at him. “Yes, you are always on my mind.” He bit her lip. “At the most inconvenient of times. And no, I wouldn’t have it any other way, because yes. Yes, Celebrían, this is more than just—”
She kissed him, because she needed to. Because she wanted to. And suddenly it seemed like it was of the utmost importance for him to be inside her, for him to tell her something true while he moved in her. For him to put those maddening, beautiful hands on her and kiss her until she forgot her own name, only for him to burn it into her skin amidst a string of curses when he fell apart.
She moaned when he pushed into her, her cunt still slick and sensitive from before, and so eager for him. He moved slowly, and for once, she let him take his time, enjoying the weight of his body on hers as he kissed her.
“I love being inside you,” he murmured into her lips. “It’s like coming home.”
And she knew he meant it, knew it wasn’t some throw away thing said in the heat of the moment. It was so lovely and honest and how the hell did he expect her to respond to that but to pull him closer, to take him deeper, to keep him from ever leaving her bed, her warmth?
“Ereinion,” she whined, when his cock brushed that soft, spongy part of her just right, the part that made her see stars, a mess of a thousand gold and silver pinpricks behind her eyes, in her blood. “God, baby, you feel so good inside me.” She lifted her hips to meet his, desperate for him. Because everything made sense when he was inside her, everything was so easy. And she wanted to chase that for as long as she was able.
It was slow and sweet and perfect, and when she came around him, he looked at her like he had never seen anything more beautiful, kissed her like nothing mattered to him but her and what was between them in this moment. And there was no way to tell what was a lie and what was true amongst those things she murmured and moaned into his lips along with his name when he moved in her deeper, harder, chasing his release.
“Celebrían,” he groaned, and she felt every shudder that wracked his body as he fell apart until he collapsed against her, kissing her softly. “Celebrían.”
Her hand moved through his hair, over the planes of his back, their kisses languid and their shared breath laborious, but she didn’t want to let go of this.
Finally, when his weight was too much and they were both too utterly exhausted, he slipped out of her, falling to his back beside her. And when she cleaned up the traces of him with some tissues from the nightstand, she watched his chest rise and fall, saw just how undone he was.
Her legs cried out in rebellion when she stood, traipsing over to the bathroom. There she cleaned herself up properly, took a moment to wash her face, though every second spent not in bed was almost physically painful. Because she was so tired. Because he had fucked her so well, so many times. Because she wanted to fall asleep curled around him.
She saw him come up behind her in the mirror, his hair riotous and messy, like he’d been thoroughly fucked, which, she supposed he had. He dropped his head to her shoulder, burying his lips in the crook of her neck. She smiled sleepily at the reflection of them, at his arm, slung possessively around her waist.
“Go get in bed, Cel,” he murmured into her neck. “I’ll be there in just a minute.”
“You promise?”
“There is nothing in the world that could keep me from your bed right now.” He nibbled at her neck, her ear, and she felt his lips widen into a smirk. “This being my one chance to snuggle with you, and all.”
She disentangled herself from his arms and walked backward toward her bed. “You better not keep me waiting.”
He gave her a mock salute. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She couldn’t help but smile as she slid beneath the comforter, pulling it up to her chin. Because he was so ridiculous and kinda cute like this, and maybe she liked him, and she was so ridiculous for that, but she didn’t care. She especially didn’t care when he slid under the blanket beside her, wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back snugly against his chest. His legs curled around hers, and they just fit, and it was nice.
“Goodnight, Ereinion,” she mumbled, her eyes already half-closed.
He kissed her shoulder. “Night, Cel.”
And then, exhausted and so, so satisfied, she slipped from awareness and was left only with warmth.
***
Everything was shaking. He cracked his eyes open, the sun streaming through soft white curtains which were definitely not his. Eyes closing once more to escape the brightness, last night came flooding back to him. The debate, pad thai, her. Dear god, her. He opened his eyes again and he found Celebrían looking down at him, silver hair brushing his chest. And she was violently shaking his arm, panic in her eyes. “You need to leave. Right now.”
He groaned, sitting up slightly. “Morning to you, too, darlin’. What’s going—?”
She pushed at him, a weak attempt to roll him off the edge of the bed. “My mother will be here for brunch in,” her eyes widened as she glanced down at her phone, “six minutes, and you cannot be here.”
Blinking slowly, he snuck a glance at his watch. Shit. It was nearly eleven. He’d never stayed in bed so late, except maybe once, in college when he’d had the flu. Gone was his chance for sneaking out early—blending in with the morning crowds making their way to work on his walk of shame, in a thoroughly wrinkled suit which had spent the night crumpled up by the door. And on top of that, his political opponent—her mother—would be here any moment.
And she could not see him here.
He scrambled out of her bed, nearly taking the comforter with him in his dash toward the door. She practically threw his clothes at him, and he almost fell trying to buckle his belt and tie his shoe at the same time. Slipping his arms through his sleeves, he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, only to find most of them missing. Celebrían grimaced, and he remembered then, the way she had all but ripped it off him last night. He tucked in the tails, buttoning up his jacket in an attempt to pass for fully dressed.
He was sure he looked a right mess, but there wasn’t time. She handed him his phone and all but pushed him out the door, before he could so much as kiss her goodbye. While he descended the stairs, he ran a hand through his hair, knowing she had done a number on it. She always did. It was why he’d kept it long these past several months, because he loved the way she ran her fingers through the length of it, pulled at it near to the point of pain.
He ordered an uber to pick him up down the street. He certainly wasn’t going to wait around in front of her building where he might run into her mother. Where he might be photographed half-dressed and with monumentally bad sex hair.
He swung the exterior door to her building open, coming face-to-face with the last person he wanted to see right now.
Her eyes widened as she caught sight of his shirt and then his hair. “Ereinion?”
He cleared his throat, stepping down onto the landing. “Senator Noldor.”
“What are you…Why are you…?” She looked at him, and then beyond him, into the building. Like she was figuring something out. And he really didn’t want to have this conversation with her, not like this. Not when he was wearing the same suit she’d seen him in last night and he likely reeked of sex, and his stupid hair…
“I’d love to stay and chat, senator, but I’m afraid I’m running late for a meeting with my campaign manager. She wants to go over the numbers from last night; you know the drill.”
“Ereinion.”
He let the door slip from his hand, seeing as she had no intention of going inside at the moment. “It was a great conversation, last night,” he said, walking backward down the steps. “I look forward to the next one.” A few steps down the sidewalk. “Until then.”
“Ereinion!”
He kept walking, because she had definitely drawn attention, and his wasn’t exactly a common name, and the last thing he needed was people wondering why their two presidential candidates were arguing in front of this particular building at eleven a.m. on a Friday. He was half-convinced that she would chase him down the street and strangle an answer out of him—because she was stubborn as hell, something she’d passed on to Celebrían—but he made it the few blocks to his car without incident. Closing the door behind him, he sighed, sinking into the backseat. The driver greeted him, confirmed the address and pulled away from the curb.
He could feel the man’s eyes flit to him in the rearview mirror when they stopped at a red light. “Aren’t you that one guy who’s running for president?”
He laughed, not a confirmation, or a denial. “You wouldn’t believe how often I get that.”
The man chuckled, but thankfully didn’t say anything else the final few miles to his place.
When the car stopped in front of his building, he thanked the driver and made a beeline for his door. And when he was safely behind the door to his condo, he slid to the ground with a long sigh. Because what a night that had been. And what a morning. He needed a shower, desperately. And a shot or two or six of espresso.
Did that really happen?
If he didn’t have such explicit memories of the way their bodies moved together, if he couldn’t still smell her on his skin, taste her on his tongue, he might be convinced that the whole thing had been a fever dream, that he’d blacked out when she’d shoved him up against the door.
But it had been real.
It had always been real.
***
Her mother didn’t bother to knock, just barged in. She’d hurriedly thrown on her clothes from last night, hoping she just looked lazy and not like she’d been thoroughly dicked down by the man who was, for all intents and purposes, her mother’s political enemy.
“I just saw Ereinion Gil-galad leaving your building on a walk of shame,” her mother said when she walked in, bypassing any normal sort of greeting.
Well, shit.
“Oh?”
The moment her mother’s gaze settled on her oversized sweatshirt, she knew she was in trouble. Nevermind that it wasn’t even his. Because it very well could have been.
Shit.
She aimed for nonchalant, not convinced she hit her mark. “That’s good for you, right, if he’s seen slutting about town? Did you take pictures?”
“It would be good for me Celebrían, if he was slutting it up anywhere else. And I was a little distracted, hoping it was just a coincidence.” Her mother leaned against the counter. “Please tell me it was a coincidence.”
“I don’t know what that man does in his free time.” She didn’t even believe herself as the words came out of her mouth.
Her mother picked something up from the counter, something she couldn’t see. “And you’ve taken to wearing cufflinks, lately, have you?”
Shit.
“Elrond must have left them here last night. He was here for dinner before you called him away.”
“Elrond doesn’t wear gold.” A beat of silence. “I shook his hand last night, Celebrían,” her mother said, and she knew she didn’t mean Elrond.
Shit.
“Mom…”
“You cannot be serious, Celebrían.” She ran a hand over her face. “Anyone but him. Do you know how this will look?”
“It won’t look like anything, because it isn’t,” she said, knowing it wasn’t entirely the truth. Not after what he’d said to her last night.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Her mother scoffed. “And you should know by now that it doesn’t matter what something is or isn’t, only what it looks like. And if anyone saw him leaving here like that and put the pieces together…Celebrían.”
“For all we know, no one saw him but you. So you’re probably worrying for nothing.”
Her mom set the cufflinks back on the counter, stepping closer to her. “Campaign aside, I’m worried about you. I know he’s handsome and charming, but—”
“But nothing. We’re not talking about this, mom.”
Because this was entirely about her campaign. And Celebrían could respect that, but she didn’t have to listen to all the reasons why she had made a horrible mistake. She knew them all too well; and she was starting to feel like maybe it wasn’t a mistake.
“Let me get changed and then we can go eat, okay?”
Her mother only nodded, but she could tell she was far from okay.
***
The photo from this morning wasn’t the problem. It was all the ones from before, worked into a timeline and evaluated through the lens of a conspiracy that didn’t seem all that ridiculous anymore.
He called Míriel.
“You’re gonna wanna see this.”
***
He breathed deeply, the steam clearing his mind as he ruffled a towel over his dripping hair, down his face. His phone buzzed on the sink, but he ignored it, combing through his hair, wishing this morning had gone differently and he had been able to feel her body slick against his beneath the heat of the shower’s spray.
His phone buzzed again and then several more times in quick succession, and he wrapped the towel around his waist, picking it up to see what was so urgent. Seven missed calls from Míriel. Shit.
The phone buzzed in his hand before he could unlock it to call her back. He answered after a single ring. “Yeah?”
“Get your ass to my office right now, Gil-galad. We have a problem.”