Red & Blue Read Online Alexis Angel

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic Tags Authors: Alexis Angel Advertisement

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I’ve slipped past the point of no return and I can feel my body begin to have that delightful seizure as my muscles clench all along my body.

“So if you can go down there and help them negotiate this out, it keeps the Federal government from making a bad situation worse, you know?” he asks me. “Have you ever dealt with either the Governor or the Mayor?”

“Oh yes!” I scream out in pleasure. I feel a fire of pleasure travel across my body and I tighten my legs around Mr. Lobbyist. Momentarily, I forget myself. When I come to, the President is still talking and I’m breathing hard.

Wait, what did I just say yes to?

I’ VE NEVER METeither man. I’ve been in Washington most of the time. My staff has most likely dealt with and pretended to know and like both men, but personally, I can’t even remember what either looks like.

“Good, so maybe you have a shared place to pick up with them,” the

President is saying.

“Yes,” I say again, a bit more subdued as the post-orgasm endorphins

start to sluice through my body.

“Great, I knew I could count on you, Viv. I definitely owe you one, and

I’m willing to pay up for whatever you need me to do,” the President says.

“Thanks and goodbye.”

I don’t have a chance to say goodbye, I’m just laying there, enjoying the

last of my orgasm before the day starts.

“Is it my turn?” Mr. Lobbyist raises his head, asking me. What a wimp.

I can’t believe this man runs his own business. That before he met me, he

was supposedly considered a badass by the Washington women who swoon

after powerful males.

I swing my legs out over him, and get off the bed. I need to take a

shower. And it sounds like I’m going to New York.

“What about me?” the Lobbyist asks, getting out of bed too. I look over

his body. His cock may be tiny, but his body was alright. Standard 6-pack

abs, maybe could stand to work out a little more—get some more

definition.

I head to the shower. Anyone who has to beg me for sex isn’t getting

any.

“I need to shower, feel free to show yourself out…babe,” I tell him as I

turn on the water and then turn to face him. He looks crestfallen. I feel so

bad all of a sudden.

“Oh, don’t be sad, babe, it’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s not your fault. I just

don’t fuck losers in the morning is all.”

He nods, and leaves, tail tucked between his legs. Hopefully he rescues

some girl from someone or something to get his ego up soon. As for me, I have a plane to catch.

5

VIVIAN

G

et in. Tell the Governor that he can’t openly cut down on jobs if he wants to keep his seat next time around. Twist his arm if I have to. Smile nicely and let him know I have a knife behind my back. And then get the hell out. I should be able to make time to catch the midnight shuttle from La Guardia back to Reagan if I stick to this plan.

That’s what I’m telling myself as my limo drives down along Park Avenue past 59th Street as it heads toward the Waldorf.

I hate coming to the city. I don’t mind it so much when I’m here, but every time I fly into either JFK or La Guardia, it seems just a bit more fake. A bit more gentrified. Common people pushed out in favor of the wealthy. International billionaires who come in and buy $2 million dollar apartments just to park their money. But everyone forgets the people who had to get evicted so the old walk-up apartment buildings could get bulldozed for these new gleaming towers.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to go back to the days of high crime and a broke, dysfunctional New York City. And I’m not socialist. I’ve made enough money from the system, and my investment portfolio would leave many people green with envy. I’m definitely in the 1%.

But despite all that, sometimes it makes me sad, seeing Manhattan go from the place that brought out the best in America and slowly turn into an upscale shopping mall for the well-to-do. Not everywhere. And not always. And there’s still a long way to go.

But it just seems like more, every time.

I sigh. I need to get my head out of the clouds. Maybe this is what women worry about when they don’t have kids. Although, I’m only 29. And honestly, getting to be Senator was hard work. I’ve never had a chance to think about kids, and why am I even thinking about kids right now? I mean, look at me, hun. I’m wearing Vera Wang—dressed to kill in a black cocktail dress—heading to a fundraiser with the most powerful people in the country. And I’m wondering about kids? And a gentrifying city?

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