Gambling For The Virgin:A Dark Billionaire Romance(34)

"Are you okay?" I ask her, looking into her eyes. Her lips are dry, and  there's an expression of pure terror in her face, as if only now her  close call started to sink in. "Did he hurt you?"

"I'm …  I'm … " she starts, but the words get lost as a fucking violent sob  takes over her. I reach for her, taking her in my arms as she starts to  cry. I place one hand under the nape of her neck, gently caressing her.

"Hey, hey …  It's alright. I'm here now," I whisper into her, and she hugs  me tight, her head resting on my shoulder. I close my eyes, just  holding her close and waiting for her to calm down.

Her tits are pressed against my chest, and I have to take a deep breath  to focus on what's happening. It's not that easy, though-her warm skin,  her breasts, the way she has her arms around my chest …  That mental image  from before, my cock deep in her mouth, hits me again, and I have to  take a deep breath.

Fuck, I just want to lean in and kiss her. I feel warm blood surging  toward my cock, and I start getting fucking hard. And, fuck, I'm only  wearing basketball shorts. If I pop a fucking boner right now, there's  no fucking way I'll be able to hide it from her.

Breathing deeply, somehow I manage to regain a fucking semblance of  control. I should get a fucking medal for this: Zen Master of the Year.

"Let's go," I tell her. "I'll take you home." I stand up, pulling her up  to her feet; with one arm over her shoulders, we head out from the  bushes and into the trail. I almost want to leave the fucking bastard  there, choking on his own blood; he sure as fuck deserves it, but saner  thoughts prevail. Grabbing my cell phone, I call 911 and inform them of  what just happened. The dispatcher asks me to remain here, waiting for  the police, but there's no fucking way I'm going to be hanging around  this place with Jocelyn. I'm taking her home right fucking now. The NYPD  can get our fucking statement there, as far as I'm concerned.

"Thank you, Lance … " she whispers, grabbing my arm tightly. There's real  gratitude there; I simply smile, not knowing what else to say. I'm just  glad I was around, because if I wasn't …  Fuck, I don't even want to think  about what could have fucking happened.

"Let's just get you home," I say, hailing a cab the moment we leave Central Park. What a fucked up way to start the day.

Already sitting inside the cab, Jocelyn leaning against my shoulder, I  breathe in deeply and try to settle my nerves. Fuck, the moment I saw  her being attacked, I just fucking lost it. I never felt anything like  it; I lost all fucking control …  I could have killed that fucking  bastard. And all because I can't stop thinking about Jocelyn.

Fuck, I'm going insane.





28





Jocelyn





"What the fuck were you thinking?" Michael shouts, slamming his fist on  the desk as he goes to his feet. "Going out by yourself …  Don't you have  anything inside that head of yours?"

I should have been expecting this. Somehow, I naively thought my husband  would have a comforting word for me after finding out that I almost got  raped. Of course, I couldn't be more mistaken about that.

"You're supposed to be helping me with this goddamn campaign, not being a liability, you stupid bitch!" Michael yells.

I have the urge to take the glass vase and hit him over the head with  it. The frustration is immense just being in the same room as this man.  This isn't a marriage. This is torture. Every day.

But whatever he has on my father - whatever could destroy a storied  career and get him to come to me with fear in his eyes makes me stay.  Because Michael scares me. Every day. With his cold demeanor. His  calculating strategy.

Michael got home at the same time the NYPD officers were leaving; they  got here an hour after the incident to get a statement, and he  immediately asked me what was going on. We went to his office, and he  listened to me without interrupting once, but I could see a vein pulsing  in his temple, rage building up inside of him.

"It wasn't my fault … " I try and tell him, but he won't have any of it.

"It wasn't your fault? You left the house without your security detail!  You never take them anywhere! Of course it was your fault! Walking along  in tight clothes … " he says, shaking his head. "Of course you'd be  jumped on. You're still a stupid little girl. We're not in Kansas,  anymore," he sneers.

I can hardly believe that he's laying all the blame at my feet. You'd  think that a high-society man like Michael Anders would be more forward  thinking, but no …  Like many other men, he just prefers to blame women  for everything. But unlike other men, he won't ever touch me. How does  he know my clothes are too tight and I'm flaunting myself if he feels  nothing for me?

"What's going on?" I turn on my heels as I hear Lance's voice. He has  opened the door to Michael's office and has stepped inside, one eyebrow  raised in curiosity.

"What's going on is that you two are idiots, that's what's going on!"  Michael continues, the tone of his voice growing more furious by the  second. "It wasn't enough that Jocelyn got attacked, you had to go and  give a beating to the guy! Do you have any idea on how that might play  out in the media?"

Lance simply looks at his father, an expression of bewilderment taking over his face.

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," he starts in a low tone. "Your wife  almost got raped, and you're wondering about how that will affect your  election? Are you fucking kidding? What kind of man are you?"

"I'm the kind of man who has fought for everything that he has. This  house, the job I got you at the White House …  Everything came from my  hard work. From my sacrifices. That's the kind of man I am. Not that you  can see it, Lance …  You know nothing about hard work or sacrifice."

"This is your wife, Dad," Lance says with sarcasm in his voice. "You might want to take care of her."

"Don't tell me who to take care of," Michael shoots back. "If I had any  sense, I should have let the state keep you after your Mom died. You're  nothing but an embarrassment to me now. This campaign is your one chance  to redeem yourself."

I feel Lance tensing up, and as he opens up his mouth to speak, I grab  his arm, stopping him. When he looks at me, I simply shake my head.  Escalating this won't help matters.

"I'm going back to my office," Michael says curtly, walking between  Lance and I without glancing at us. We stay there in silence, hearing  the click of Michael's shoes across the hallway, and then the door  opening and slamming shut.

"That fucking bastard … " Lance whispers to no one in particular, heading  out of the office as if he were in a trance. He's seething; even though  he won't show it, I know that his father's words have gotten to him. I  follow him to the living room, trying to forget Michael's words as I get  out of his office. They hurt, sure, but I'm used to his coldness by  now.

Lance is sitting on the couch in the family room, staring blankly at the  TV. There's some old movie from the early 00s going, a romantic movie  of sorts, but I doubt he's actually seeing any of it.

After a few minutes I hear Michael walking down the hall and opening the  front door. He slams the door and I hear his motorcade start up and  drive away.         

     



 

I have no idea what to say to Lance, but I sit down next to him all the  same, placing one leg up on the couch as I turn to face him.

"Thank you," I say, looking him in the eyes and trying to steer the  conversation away from his father. "I don't know what would have  happened if you didn't show up when you did … " I shudder, the memories of  what just happened flooding me again.

"Hey, don't worry …  It's over, that's all that matters." His expression  softens as he speaks, a smile dawning on his lips. God, I could kiss him  right now …  I could just lean in, take his hand in mine and press my  mouth against his. It would be so easy. Too easy.

I turn to face the TV, my heart beating fast. Breathing in, I try to  calm myself and watch the movie on TV, but much like Lance, all I can do  is stare absently at the moving pictures, unable to focus on whatever's  happening.

We sit in silence for a long while, simply staring at the TV-there, a  half-naked young Keanu Reeves is kissing Charlize Theron. Even though  I've already watched it when I was younger, the name of the movie simply  alludes. Then, suddenly remembering it, I squeal like a young girl,  grabbing Lance's arm.

"Oh, I love this movie …  Sweet November!" I lay down on the couch, placing both my legs across Lance's lap.

"Never saw it," he responds, smiling as he sets his forearms across my  legs. A shiver goes up my spine as I feel his skin on mine, but I try  and push forbidden thoughts to the back of my mind, tucking them away.  It's harder than it seems, though.