Page 13 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)

I try to want it, to relax into his hold, to appreciate the feel of his skin on mine, but it’s hard.

He’s moving too fast. His hands are too rough, and my mind is everywhere but in this moment with him.

My thoughts bounce from the President, to the new ad I’m sure will be playing on every major news outlet by the end of the night, and then—when Aubrey undoes his pants and his dick is a breath away from being inside of me—to Sutton fucking Ellsworth on her knees with her lips wrapped around the dick in question.

That snaps me out of it.

“Stop,” I say firmly, pushing at him again. He pulls back and then advances again, so I shove him hard. “Aubrey, I said stop. Let me down.”

He releases me, stepping back to allow me room to put my feet on the ground. “What’s wrong?” he asks, tucking himself back into his pants and then running frustrated fingers through his hair.

I stare at him, wondering how many times Sutton saw him in this particular state of dishevelment.

If she’d giggled and swooned at getting to witness a man like Aubrey in such a vulnerable position.

Of course, she did, I think bitterly. She probably relished every moment of seeing the raw, unfiltered version of him.

For some reason, the word raw bounces around my skull, calling my attention to yet another question I need to ask my husband about his affair.

“Did you use condoms with her?” I blurt out.

Aubrey throws his hands up. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sel. You want to talk about this now ?”

My jaw clenches, old resentments and new pain rising up inside of me. “Well, yes, Aubrey. I thought it might be nice to know if you’re putting me at risk before I let you fuck me.”

“I would never put you at risk.”

“That’s not an answer, Aubrey.”

Another hand rushes through his hair, spawning more tunnels of agitation in the golden strands, and he sighs heavily. It’s that sigh that tells me I won’t get the answer I’m looking for today, if I get one at all.

“Selene, we’re standing on the precipice of our dreams, of a future we’ve been working toward for years. In just a few weeks, we’ll be poised to keep our promise to make sure no other parent loses their kid the way we lost AJ.”

At the mention of our shared vow born of grief and the sensation of helplessness so strong we have gone to great lengths to never feel it again, I soften immediately.

Aubrey steps forward, wrapping his hands around my wrist and pulling me into him.

I tip my head back, looking up into his face, trying to decipher if this is manipulation or actual care.

His eyes are gentle, wide with something I can only call sincerity.

“We’ve been different since the hospital,” he whispers. “Better than we’ve been since the news of the affair broke. I don’t want to go backwards, Selene, only forward. Only with you.”

“I want that too, Aubrey, but there is no forward for me without answers about how we ended up here in the first place.”

“Aubrey, we have a call in five minutes,” Jordan says, her voice and sudden appearance in the doorway behind me interrupting whatever he was about to say.

She marches into the room, accompanied by several other staff members.

They don’t spare us a second glance as they make a beeline for the conference table in the far corner.

With the moment broken, I start to pull away, but Aubrey stops me.

“Have dinner with me on Monday. We’ll go to our favorite spot and talk about everything. I’ll answer all of your questions, tell you whatever you need to know, so we can leave all of this ugliness behind and focus on our future.”

I bite my lip. “I don’t know if a public setting is the best place for us to…”

“I need you, Aubrey,” Jordan calls from across the room, pulling his attention from me.

“Just give me one damn second to speak with my wife,” he barks over his shoulders before looking back at me.

“Then we won’t have the conversation at dinner.

That will just be the start. You’ll get all dolled up.

I’ll wear the same shit I always wear.” His lips curve in a self-deprecating smile.

“We’ll have good food and even better wine, and then, once I’ve proven that I love you and remind you why you put up with me, we’ll come home and have the hard conversation in private. ”

Jordan clears her throat loudly as the tell-tale chime of a person entering a video call sounds out around us. Aubrey doesn’t move. He just stands there, silently pleading for me to accept his offer with wide, imploring eyes.

“Aubrey!” Jordan shouts, her tone incredulous. She’s never seen him put me before his work, before her.

He arches a brow. “Selene.”

Behind him, Jordan apologizes to the person waiting for Aubrey, assuring them that the call will start soon.

She doesn’t know that, though, and the uncertainty written into her features when she glances over her shoulder at me says as much.

Just like at the hair salon, I feel a rush of pleasure roll through me at the sight of her discomfort.

It hits me like a shot of tequila, burning its way down my throat and into my chest before leaving me with the heady sensation of freedom.

This freedom is laced with power, and I get drunk on it, holding on to it for long seconds before I set Aubrey free and put Jordan and the rest of her anxious colleagues out of their misery.

“Fine, I’ll have dinner with you.”

Aubrey’s smile is straight rows of brilliantly white teeth that fill my line of sight for a second when he comes down to kiss me.

“I love you,” he murmurs the words into my lips before pulling away, leaving me to wonder if maybe, just maybe, we can make our marriage work.