The Phoenix Candidate(47)

“I’d run that fingertip through your curls, and I’d tease you, Grace. I wouldn’t go to the spot where you want me. I’d take my time, appreciating your legs, your folds, and your softness. I’d draw my fingertip up and down your thighs, getting closer to your center bit by bit by bit.”

I shudder. “I need you closer.”

“Patience, Grace. I’m getting you there. Sometimes I like to take you instantly, but tonight I’ll take my time exploring you. I’ll push your knees apart so I can see all of you, the delicate shades of pink and blush, your layers as you open to me.” Jared draws a halting breath.

“Would you … tie me?” I tremble, asking as much about our make-believe scenario as I’m asking him for the real thing. It’s another dark corner of my heart, terrifying to expose to the light.

Jared chuckles low. “You have no idea how much I’d enjoy that, Grace. I’d tie you slowly, and feel your body come alive as you released yourself to me. And then I’d move my fingertip through your wetness, slicking you up and down your seam, making you completely ready for me.”

“I’m ready.” I’m panting, gasping for breath as my fingers press against my clit, working against the bundle of nerves that Jared still has yet to reach with his story.

“I’d slip inside you, just enough to feel that rough spot, to tease it with my fingertip and make you jolt and writhe around me. That reaction makes me so hard, Grace. It’s not just touching you, it’s feeling you respond—when you twist and squirm and pant and blush. That’s what makes me hard. That’s what makes my cock need to be inside you.”

“I need you inside me.”

“Then do it, Grace. Make your fingers my cock and touch yourself. But don’t go all the way yet. I’m just getting started. I’ve only gotten you wet and ready, I’ve only just begun to brush the tip of my cock through your folds, to coat my head with your juices.”

“Oh, God.” His words send me spiraling and I nearly drop the phone. My fingers are pressed to my cleft, but not yet inside. I’m waiting for him to tell me when.

“Do you feel me? Are you ready for me to fill you up, Grace? Because I’m hard as a rock over here and I need your pussy so badly that I’m licking my fingers to taste you, to spread you over my tongue.”

“I feel you,” I choke out. The electricity over my skin sparks and builds, a familiar sensation and yet every time it is new. Every time it builds it’s a fresh and almost magical connection, like a summer storm that draws together suddenly and flashes across the sky.

“Then I’ll press inside. I’m going to thrust hard, Grace, and stretch you and fill you. I’m going to take your breath away and send you flying. And I’m going to anchor you, tilt your hips into mine, wrap your legs around me, control our rhythm, our breath, our heartbeats. I’m going to go hard at you because I know you can take it. I know you want it hard.”

“I do.”

“And I’m going to split you apart with the force of us. I’m going to dig my fingers into the flesh of your hips, and bite down on your neck and pull your hair and smack your ass until you scream.”

My moan rises as one hand plunges between my legs, my thumb punishing my clit. My other hand tugs hard on my hair, electrifying my scalp. I can feel him and taste him all over me, inside and out, owning my pleasure and giving me more and more and more.

Jared’s voice drops low, and I tilt my ear back to the phone so I can hear him. “Grace. Listen to me. As you come down from your climax I’m going to feel you clenching around my cock, I’m going to feel us slick with sweat and come. I’m going to run my hands across your skin and make you feel every part of me, all over again, before I pull out of you.”

I sigh. “I wish you didn’t have to. I want you with me all night.”

Jared chuckles. “Noted. Don’t worry, Grace. It won’t be long until I see you again. And I’m going to make what I just described look positively tame compared to what I’ll do to you then.”





Chapter Twenty-Nine





The stories come out in a trickle, and then in a flood.

I’m quoted everywhere, from USA Today to small, community dailies running wire service stories. My name keeps surfacing on talk shows that speak obliquely about “a source close to Darrow’s campaign” or “a Conover spokesman suggested…”

It’s official. I’m on the short list. My name recognition spikes ten points in a week, according to a poll Jared’s watching.

Lauren drags me to a stylist who demands that I cut and highlight my hair. I dig in my heels and refuse that, but I compromise by letting her shape my brows and swap out my liquid eyeliner for pencil.