Chapter Twenty-Two
Reagan
P R E S E N T
After that first night at his penthouse, it’s like we’ve hit the reset button on the whole thing. Whatever this thing is that Hudson and I have.
But for the first time in probably ever, I don’t give one flying crap about labeling anything, or compartmentalizing it, or making it fit a certain parameter I’ve set for it.
With him, I just let go.
And things are just better with him around, and I don’t just mean the sex, though that’s of course mind blowing. It’s everything.
Over the next two weeks, I just start to surge ahead in the polls, and I know it’s got everything to do with him and the way he makes me feel. Every speech I give, he’s there to the side, nodding silently. His eyes flashing at me and encouraging me.
He’s helping me run speeches, late at night while I’m tucked against him without a stitch of clothing on. And for some reason the scripts I’ve run through once or twice with Hudson’s half-erect cock pressed against my back somehow just come out even better when I deliver them. Really, he’s giving me his undivided support, even if he really can’t give it in public.
Which brings me back to the sex. Out of the public, it’s something else altogether.
We’re sneaking around like fucking teenagers, screwing every chance we get and every wild place I let him drag me; like really every place. It’s like I can’t resist him, or I can’t say no when he looks at me the way he does.
He takes me on the hood of his car, up on the top floor of a parking garage looking out over the New York harbor and the twinkling lights of the city, or against the floor to ceiling glass of his living room windows without me giving a care in the world.
I arrive red-face and glowing, and barely on time for a stump speech at the city manager’s office because Hudson’s just had me bent over in the utility closet down the hall with his mouth on my pussy.
Essentially, I’m better with him, and for two full weeks, we pretend that there’s no way anything in the world can touch that.
“Yes, second row?”
I’m at a podium up in front of the Police union offices surrounded by Donald, Erika, Hudson, and a few other staffers giving a quick press Q&A. This by now quite mundane and routine thing is made somewhat more interesting by the fact that I can literally still taste Hudson on my tongue from the hot and fast fun we had right before I stepped onto stage in an empty office.
“Yeah hi, Marc with the Times.” The sweaty looking reporter with the ironic mustache suddenly looks right past me, to Hudson. “It’s Hudson, is it?”
Hudson smirks and turns to look out the windows to the side of the conference room. “I believe that’s the East River, actually.” He grins as the murmurs and chuckles spread through the gathered reporters - mostly from the female contingent I notice - aided by his winning smile and that roguish charm it exudes.
The reporter smiles thinly and nods before Hudson winks at him and nods. “Yes, it’s Hudson, last time I checked.”
“Sir, if I may-”
“All questions to Ms. Archer, if you would.” He cuts the man off succinctly as he nods towards me and takes a step back into the gathered staffers behind me.
“Well, no actually, this one’s for you.”
I frown as I look over my shoulder to see Hudson’s face darkening and his jaw tightening slightly. “Well then I’m all ears, Mar-”
“You’re military, right?”
Hudson’s jaw tightens even more, his lips thin, and I can see his eyes flash with some emotion I can’t quite place. He looks almost grim. “That’s correct, but again, I must ask that all questions be directed towards Ms. Ar-”
“Right, yeah no, you said that. But the thing is, Mr. Banks, I don’t actually see anything about you anywhere.”
The Times or not, I have no idea what this guy is going on about. I step up to the mic ready to cut him off. “Excuse me, Marc, but I think we should move on to oth-”
“I’ve looked you up, Mr. Banks. Public record and all that and I don’t see anything.”
Hudson’s face is white and drawn tight, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly with his breath. “I’m not sure what you’re implying-”
“Sir, I’m implying that there’s simply no record of you being in the U.S. Military.”
Hudson’s face goes dark, his lips thin, and the hushed murmur has barely begun to spread through the crowd before he turns and abruptly leaves the stage. Donald is smiling his showman smile as he steps to the mic and says something about no further questions, but I’m already rushing off after Hudson.