Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Me: I’m already not liking the sound of it.
Vance: Jeter wants to have dinner with you.
I scowl at my phone. Scott Jeter is my opponent running for AG.
Me: Why the hell would I want to have dinner with that idiot?
Vance: Because the press loves a juicy story. Jeter is a tool and you’re the exact opposite. You wouldn’t have to do anything but be you. He’ll fuck things up and you’ll be the media darling.
Me: Sounds too easy.
Vance: Here’s where it gets tricky.
Me: Tricky?
Vance: You’ll need to bring Neena. Is she done being mad at you?
Fuck.
I’ve evaded Vance thus far about media appearances with Neena because I admitted we were having marital problems. But I lied and said we were working through them. That by the time the election rolls around, we’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about.
Here we are, though, late summer, and the election is on the horizon. Still no wife. I’m so fucked when the press gets wind I can’t find my own goddamn wife. Sure, many people will assume she ran off and left me, speculating as to the whys. There will be a significant amount of people, however, who will assume foul play. They’ll want to investigate her missing whereabouts. I don’t need that shit in my life.
Me: She’s still pissed, but I could bring my stepdaughter as my date.
I inwardly cringe at the word date, but I’ve already sent the text. Luckily, he doesn’t read into it.
Vance: Father/daughter dinner. Even better. The press will love it. You’re a smart man, Park.
Smart.
Yeah fucking right.
I’m an idiot. An idiot because I can already imagine Aubrey dressed in something beautiful, arm looped with mine, as I take her to a fancy restaurant.
“Everything okay?” Aubrey asks as I toss my phone away.
“Campaign stuff.” I lean back against the cushions, staring up at the ceiling. “A dinner with the opponent.”
“Ew. Why would you do that?” She sits up, turning toward me. “He’ll probably try and bait you or get you to make a fool of yourself.”
“That’s what Vance, my campaign manager, is hoping. Well, for Jeter at least. There’s just one problem.”
“Mom,” she says in a knowing tone. “Can we find her by then?”
I glance her way. “I’ve been trying to contact her for months, Love. Months. I’m not confident she’ll suddenly show up when I need her.”
“What will you do?” Her teeth worry over her bottom lip. “Can you deny his request for this dinner?”
It warms me knowing she’s concerned on my behalf. I reach over, patting her bare thigh and then resting my palm there. It’s inappropriate as fuck, but I can’t help myself.
“I want to bring you,” I admit, flashing her a smile. “That is, if you want to go schmooze with me.”
“Hell yeah,” she says, eyes glittering. “We’ll show that asshole you’re the better pick. We’ve got this.”
Her faith in me—in us—has my heart squeezing in my chest. Of course the universe would give me what I want in a package I can’t have.
She leans back on the couch, stretching her legs over my lap. We continue to watch the movie, neither of us keen on putting distance between us. No, it’s as though Aubrey takes great pleasure in shifting and fidgeting, her calves rubbing over my cock any chance she gets. I pretend to be focused on the movie as my hand remains on her thigh, tracing over the tattooed designs with my thumb.
I can’t fuck her, that much is for certain, but I can do this.
Cuddling with my stepdaughter isn’t against the law. We’re not making a big deal out of the way she makes my dick hard or how her skin is pebbled with goose bumps at my touch that strokes dangerously close to the hem of her shorts.
It’s nothing.
Harmless.
Something we can quietly do that won’t fuck up my world.
We haven’t crossed any lines we can’t come back from.
Problem is, it’s not enough, goddammit. It’s not enough and I wonder how long I can deny myself something I know will feel so fucking good.
Aubrey
The sound of my alarm rouses me from a deep, blissful sleep. I lie in bed for a moment, hanging on to the memories of last night that somehow worked themselves into my dream. Safe behind the veils of sleep, I was free to touch Hugo like I wanted, straddling him and fusing my lips to his.
My phone alarm continues to blare, disturbing my dangerous thoughts. I grumble as I reach over to turn it off. I’m wrapped in the blanket from the theater room. The soft chenille smells like Hugo and I inhale a deep breath of it. I have an overwhelming urge to touch myself and orgasm while I’m still saturated in all things Hugo.
But with thoughts of climaxing come thoughts of Spencer.
He dry-humped me last night until I came. It was exhilarating and horrible all at once. I didn’t want it at all but also wanted it more than anything in that moment. His hold on me is still ever-present, which annoys me to no end. Why can’t I just get over him once and for all?