Mr. President 1(237)

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.





97





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.#p#分页标题#e#

“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?”