was everything.” Jack planted a gentle kiss near her lips. “You’ve given so much of yourself to me and to this campaign, and you put yourself out there today for more than just objective policy reasons. You took a huge political risk to defend me. And I love you for it.”
She pressed her forehead to his. “You’re welcome. I’ll do whatever I can to help you win.”
“I hope all three C-SPAN viewers watching today could tell how much you loved me. I sure as hell noticed.”
“As long as you know, I don’t care.” Caroline wrapped her arms and legs around him again, smiling as Jack twirled her around in the water.
He paused for a moment, nipping at her earlobe again. “This will pass, sweetheart,” he whispered. “We’ll get through this campaign and it’ll get better.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s not good, either. I hate what all of this has been doing to you.”
She had failed to mask her stress. Maybe she needed to try harder. “Being with you makes up for a lot of it.”
He started twirling her around again, slower this time. “You make all of this worthwhile.”
She leaned in for a long embrace. “This hugging in the pool thing is pretty nice.”
Jack disentangled himself from her thighs and pressed against her hip so she could feel his erection. “Enjoy it while you can,” he said, winking at her. “Because in a few seconds, you’re getting much more than a hug.”
Caroline threw her head back and laughed.
Chapter Twenty
The Fed
Caroline didn’t like euphemisms for sex. She’d been known to drop an f-bomb or twenty when the opportunity presented itself, since profanity was her default setting. Fuck you, fuck me, fuck my brains out, fuck me hard, fuck that shit. Sometimes she meant sex, sometimes she just punctuated her language with profanity.
But she never, ever referred to it as making love. Bringing love into it, even when you had valid reasons? It took all her effort not to giggle or roll her eyes. Sex accompanied by love could be wonderful, even divine, but to talk about it using foofy words and sappy metaphors? That part always made her uncomfortable.
But that’s what Jack had done that night, after they’d finished having sex in the pool. Made love. To her, not with her. He barely needed fifteen minutes before dragging her toward the bedroom and starting in again. He tied her wrists to the bedframe with her swimsuit and teased her until she could barely take it anymore. Then he loosened her bindings and glided in and out of her for what seemed like forever, whispering his version of sweet nothings into her ear.
They ruined the suit. She bought another one. Many more than one, if she remembered correctly. They ruined more than one swimsuit that summer. Not that she ever complained when he behaved that way; when he was in control she felt free and uninhibited, no matter what they were doing in the bedroom. She didn’t know if he was compelled by gratitude, passion, or need, but he spent so much time with his head between her thighs that she could barely crawl out of bed the next morning. She spent years trying to figure out how he could function after nights like that.
It hurt just to think about it. Because there were times when he was tender and sweet, as if afraid he would break her. Other times he would fuck her so hard and fast that the delicious savagery made her want to split apart anyway.
Her brokenness was anything but beautiful now. No wonder, no delight in her eyes. Just a despair that threatened to overtake her spirit with each passing day. She knew she had to fight it. Once she gave in, the darkness would envelop her and she’d never break free.
But it was hard. At night or whenever she neared slumber, reality blurred and her thoughts jumbled. She had no idea whether her visions or dreams were genuine or imaginary. The desolation was tangible and raw, and she knew that one day she’d wake up without even her fantasies to console her.
That fact alone, more than anything else, terrified the fuck out of her.
* * * * *
The next morning Murdock dispensed with the pleasantries. He asked if she was willing to talk, she said no, and the process repeated itself with her right hand. This time, she cried. And hated herself for it. Powell and Fischer laughed when she started to weep. When Fischer grabbed her hands