appetizing to my eyes, considering I’d missed brunch. I nibbled on the lobster truffles from France, and then noticed the Polish pastries, which were similar to crepes. I used the tongs to reach for one.
“Have you tried the Parisian soufflé?” said a familiar voice.
Turning, I dropped the tongs back on the table. “Mr. Vice President.”
VP Aiden Palmer cut an intimidating figure at over six feet tall. His African-American heritage graced him with a sophisticated authority that was easy to trust.
“Ms. Bardot, how are you?” he asked.
“I’m fine, sir, thank you. How are you?”
“As bored as you are by the looks of it.” He winked. “Is your father here?”
“No, he couldn’t make it. Daddy sends his apologies.”
“Right.” Palmer smiled. “Has a date been set?”
I wiped my hands on my napkin, and gave him a puzzled look. “I’m sorry?”
“Your wedding day?”
“Oh, no, we decided not to set a date until the election is over with. Not that we’re trying to push you out or anything. That would be rude. I mean, this is your home…and it’s beautiful. You must love it here. And um…I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
He laughed. “I’m used to it.”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
“Well, you are Damien Godman’s plus one.” He gave me a mischievous grin. “His father is here to ruin everyone’s appetite.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” I said with sarcasm, grinning back at him.
He pointed at me. “And you’re here to be beaten down by my staff so we can get intel on Godman’s campaign.”
“Love your honesty, Mr. Vice President.” I leaned in. “Put me to work. I might be able to help you out.”
He laughed raucously. “I was impressed by the guest piece you wrote for the Washington Post.”
“The one about social media?” I felt a rush of pride. “You read that?”
“Yes, in fact, if you ever want to come and work for us, we’d love to have you.”
“That would be awkward. My father’s policies—and Senator Godman’s—kind of clash with yours.”
“You believe everything Godman stands for?”
“I’m respectful of what he’s hoping to achieve. Some real change in a new and positive direction. I’m passionate about many of the forward-thinking policies he’s running on. Their hope is to inject a new vitality onto the Hill. And as you know, Damien is dedicated to modernizing public housing.”
“As are we.”
“Kind of slow to make things happen, sir.”
“Everything hits a wall at some point. No matter how well intended. Surely the Godman campaign know you’re their secret weapon? Or maybe they’re holding back until they can unleash you days before the election.”
I held my arms out with a palms-up gesture. “Unleash the sorceress!”
“I can only imagine.” He scrunched his nose. “They don’t know how lucky they are.”
“Thank you for the offer of work. I’m flattered. I mean, if it was up to me—”
My body erupted with sudden pleasure—the space between my thighs wired with a potent pulsing, a deep-rooted vibration within my pussy. “Oh, God!”
Palmer looked concerned. “Sorry?”
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
With my face burning up, I tried to catch a breath. “I just remembered I have to talk to…somebody. It’s amazing. I mean, it’s been lovely to see you again.”
“Likewise.” He gave a bow.
With a look of apology, I hurried through the crowd searching for Damien.
No one walked away from the Vice President. It wasn’t what you did, ever. It was always the other way around. You followed protocol and respected his rank as first in succession to the President.
My sex was alight with sensations coaxing me toward an orgasm—right here in the middle of a fucking garden party.
I’m going to kill him…
My fake fiancé was using a remote to pulse those spheres inside me to what felt like maximum oscillation.
I glared at him as I approached.
Damien raised a finger to indicate he was deep in conversation within a circle of journalists, and then waved to impress upon me he couldn’t be interrupted.
Ignoring him, I eased through the gathering and whispered, “Turn it off.”
He offered a polite smile to the men and women around him. “Excuse me for one second.”
Damien’s strong grip led me a few feet away. “I’m in the middle of an interview.”
“How dare you? Of all places. Turn it off.”
“I don’t have the control,” he said flatly.
“What?”
He smiled, seeing the blissful torment on my face.
“Listen to me,” I seethed. “If you don’t want me screaming—”
“You’re not a screamer.” He gave a shrug. “That’s what I’ve learned so far. There’s more of a slow, quiet build up and then your expression is one of pure joy. You moan softly when you finally