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Cold War

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She could feel it coursing through her body.

It was a rush, like a tidal wave coursing through her.

It was new this feeling of being so in control of herself and everyone else. She had already realized that what “power” she’d held before paled in comparison to what she possessed now. That had been a gift bestowed upon her. This was hers now, something she earned in battle and blood .

Before she had been beholden. To Cornell. To her constituents. To history. To her image. To her legacy.

Now everything and everyone was beholden to her. The feeling was heady.

But she was up to the challenge.

A soft moan fell from her lips before she could think to stop it. She gripped the headboard just a bit tighter.

The transition had been like the clouds in her life had all shifted and only under the illumination of a bright blue sky had she realized just how overcast her life had been before. Everything was much more clear now. She could finally see the path she had always been destined to travel as it unfolded in front of her.

The soft wet, sucking sounds invaded her mind and she closed her eyes to revel in the feel of his tongue as it slipped between the folds of her sex to circle her clit, which he then covered with his lips and suckled, the tip of his tongue darting out every now and then to tickle her. She ground her hips down onto his face again and exhaled a ragged breath.

There was plenty to do. It would be hard work, but if there was one thing she’d learned over the last few months, it was that she, Mariah Dillard, was more than capable.

And there was that little bit of doubt. It was a familiar friend, she’d lived with it her entire life, even though now it had transitioned from her constant companion to an annoying former friend who texted regularly trying to make it impossible to move on.

She had regrets. Of course she did. And none weighed as heavy on her heart as Cornell. She wished it hadn’t come to that. She wished that she hadn’t needed to kill…

“No,” she said aloud, her eyes opening quickly.

He was sucking on her clit, but it wasn’t enough.

She reached over with her right hand and untied the silk scarf binding his wrist to the bedpost. He knew just what to do. Just what she wanted. Just what she needed.

His hand glided up her thigh, softly, almost a caress, but not too long. That’s not what she needed right now. He palmed her ass and squeezed, before running a finger down between her cheeks and then finding her wet opening.

He shoved the first finger in roughly and she yelped.

He sometimes liked to exert his own little bit of power. She smiled at his tiny revolt.

A second finger joined the first and then another. And then he was fucking her with hard quick jabs of his hand, while still sucking on her clit.

She was close.

But even this was different now.

Mariah loved sex, but it was tainted. She always had a hard time parsing out what was a consequence of the abuse and what was her own genuine pleasure. And every time she thought she had figured it out in the past she would find herself sobbing through her orgasm, feeling as dirty and violated and conflicted as she had when her uncle had snuck into her room when she was a child. She had hated the long reach of her trauma and she’d always known that it was stopping her from reaching her full potential.

But now, she was panting, riding his face wantonly as she chased her orgasm, she was no longer crippled by the past.

She moaned quietly at first, her mouth closed, chin resting on her chest. But as her release spread through her, her head fell back in ecstasy, her loud moans filling the room (with the soft undertones of his grunts and groans).

Her knuckles tightened on the headboard. She came in a wet gush all over his face and hand with a smile on her face.

This was just what she needed.

Shades lapped at her clit. She yelped, her body jumping away from him minutely, every time his tongue made contact with her still sensitive nib.

He was hard; harder than he’d ever been before. He always was when she was around. Their bodies were warm, flushed, but the air in the room was still cool. The contrast made his dick lurch as it stood ready and at attention for her.

If she wanted him.

Eventually her body stilled from the small quakes that always followed her orgasms.

When she finally moved to climb off of him, he began to feel that same duel of emotions inside himself.

He wanted her to sit on his dick and ride him. He wanted to circle her clit with his one free hand and watch her face as another orgasm built. He wanted that wet warm orgasm to flow in his lap and only then would he let himself come inside of her. He wanted to savor that little smile that always spread across her lips when she felt him erupt inside of her.

But then he also wanted to pull his bound hand free of the loosely tied constraint. He could have, at any point while she rode his face. But she liked to be in control. And he had no problem giving her the appearance of it. Whatever made her safe and comfortable and got her off. But still, he wanted to free himself and flip her over onto her hands and knees. He wanted to grip her hips tight, almost too tight, and pound into her, ripping every moan and grunt and scream and orgasm from her. Because she wouldn’t make it easy. And he didn’t want her to.

But he wouldn’t ask her for the first. And now wasn’t the time to take the second.

So he waited. He was good at that.

She stood at the side of the bed and took him in: naked, his dick sticking almost straight up from his hips proudly. He took in the sight of her: her breasts fully and heavy, but still pert, the soft sheen of sweat dampening her skin.

This was a familiar standoff.

When she turned away from him, grabbing her robe from the foot of the bed, a soft silky thing that just barely hid her curves from him, or at least it might have hid her curves if she ever bothered to belt it.

“Take care of yourself,” she said over her shoulder, not even sparing him another glance as she padded down the hall to her office.

He smiled.

She needed to feel in control. It was crucial. He knew that. And so he gave her what she wanted and he would continue to do so, until he didn’t. Until he couldn’t. Whether she sensed that, he couldn’t tell. And for right now it didn’t matter.

He groaned loudly, maybe louder than strictly necessary, as the skin of his palm wrapped around his dick. It was a painful relief.

He could still smell her, taste her on his lips.

It was a shame this couldn’t last.

But she didn’t share power.

And he wouldn’t share her. Not even with the empire he helped build.

Her name fell from his lips as his own released finally neared like a soft prayer he said over and over and over again.

It wouldn’t last. But he was going to enjoy it until the bitter, bloody end.

Soundtrack: Beyonce "6 Inch"