Page 34 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)

SELENE

C al has me draped across his lap.

My back is arched, the curve of my ribcage kissing the hard muscles of his thighs as he runs a callused palm over my ass.

The first slap makes me gasp, and he chuckles darkly at the sound.

I wish I could see his face, but the room is pitch black.

All I have is the incendiary sensation of his touch, the intoxicating smoke and spice scent of him, and the desperate whimpers leaving my lips that are soon drowned out by the sound of his fingers dipping into my drenched sex.

He groans and leans down to plant a kiss on my back as I rock against his hand. My pussy is already spasming, the hot pressure of an impending release rolling down my spine.

“I’m going to come, Cal.”

“Let go, sweetheart,” another voice purrs into my ear as a new set of hands urges me up off of Cal’s lap so they can palm my breasts, tweaking my nipples with a roughness that’s in sync with the gentle push and pull of Cal’s fingers moving in and out of me.

“Let him know how good he’s making you feel. ”

I reach for him blindly, fingers cupping the back of his skull, caressing the smooth skin that would have told me who he was if I hadn’t already identified him by his voice. He allows me to pull him closer, drawing his lush lips into the crook of my neck where he bites down on gently.

“ Beck. ”

Cal’s nickname for his partner is a broken moan that’s part confusion and part delight. It leaves my throat in a low, shocked whisper and hits the air, greeting me as I move from the carnality of my dream to the cold loneliness of my empty bedroom.

“Seriously?” I throw an arm over my eyes as the flame of embarrassment heats my cheeks.

It grows hotter when I squeeze my thighs together and feel the slickness gathered between them.

The moment I acknowledge the moisture, my pulse starts to throb.

A soft, incessant beating that’s concentrated in the bundle of nerves begging for attention, for friction, for the version of my two sentries that only exists in my head.

With one arm still shielding me from the shame of my dream, I slip the other underneath the covers and spread my thighs.

I gasp softly when my fingers glide through the evidence of my arousal and drag it up to my clit, circling it several times before allowing myself the pleasure of direct touch.

The first swipe across the sensitive nub is like a bolt of lightning, striking hard and fast, forcing my back to bow and my legs to jerk.

The second isn’t as jarring, but it’s just as delicious, and I know it won’t take me long to finish what dream Cal and Beck started.

Seconds later, I’m digging my teeth into my arm to stifle the cries of satisfaction that are the last thing I hear before I fall into a deep, dreamless slumber.

The next morning, I wake feeling refreshed and in as good a mood as I’ve been since the launch of SafeSight.

To my surprise, that good mood extends beyond the confines of my bedroom, persisting even as I enter the living area of our suite and find Aubrey at the dining table reading a newspaper.

There’s a spread set up behind him that’s enough to feed a small army, which means the suite will be brimming with people shortly.

He doesn’t look up as I move to the breakfast bar and begin fixing my plate, which is fine because he doesn’t deserve to bask in a bit of my post-orgasm glow.

Heat creeps up my neck as images from my dream rush through my mind in rapid flashes, and I bite down hard on the inside of my cheeks to dispel them.

“How did you sleep?” Aubrey asks, the sudden sound of his voice making me jump hard enough to send several of the grapes I’d just placed on my plate flying off.

I spin around, a grimace on my lips, when I find him staring at me.

His head tilted to the side like he’s trying to figure something out.

The question and the intensity of his gaze make something ugly and bitter bloom in my chest. It rattles against my ribs, making me squint as I try to determine what it is.

Discomfort.

Guilt.

Shame.

I square my shoulders, silently resolving to sort through those feelings once I’m alone again, as I raise my chin. “I slept great,” I return, and then, since we’re playing at cordiality, I add, “How about you?”

Aubrey rests his back against his seat and crosses his legs, stroking his chin. “Are you sure? No complaints about your mattress or the air conditioning? I know how restless you get when you’re hot at night.”

“Yes, I’m sure, Aubrey.” I set my plate on the table and crouched down to pick up the runaway fruit. “I think I’m capable of accurately reporting the quality of my sleep.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t get all snappy with me. I was only asking because I thought I heard some noises coming from your room.”

All of my muscles tense, rendering me motionless with a handful of grapes hovering over the empty trash can next to the breakfast bar. One endless second ticks by before I’m able to force myself back into action. I drop the grapes, and they land with dull thuds at the bottom of the trash.

“I don’t know what you heard, but it wasn’t me,” I say evenly, turning back around to grab my plate. “I got a full night’s rest, which means I’ll be more than prepared to participate in whatever events you and Jordan have committed me to for the day.”

Since I don’t have access to my email, I’ve had to rely on direct or written communication from either Jordan or Aubrey to inform me about my day.

I’ve insisted on weekly schedules, so I could have more time to prepare, but they’ve pushed back, stating that things are changing from minute to minute, so there’s no point in making one.

The lack of organization and consideration for my time is a constant source of agitation for me, which is probably why they continue to leave me in the dark.

Aubrey picks up his glass of water and takes a long sip, still eyeing me like I’m a puzzle piece he’s trying to determine how and where to place. He takes a few sips and then sets it back down, making a show of keeping me waiting.

“We’ll be in strategy meetings for the day, so you won’t be needed.”

A rush of relief washes over me, so sudden and intense that I almost smile at him.

It fades quickly, though, once I realize that no campaign commitments plus no work for Culture Code means a day of boredom for me.

Without another word to Aubrey, I return to my room and eat my breakfast at the small table in the corner that gives me a view of the park outside the hotel.

My phone buzzes with a text from Monique.

Monique: Get off your phone, hoe!

Selene: I wasn’t on my phone until you texted me.

Monique: But you had it near you, which means you were about to be on it, scrolling through those social media apps I told your ass to delete.

Selene: I did delete them! Which is probably why I’m sitting here bored out of my mind.

Monique: Bored? I thought there was a tightly packed itinerary that demanded your attention and presence.

Taking a bite out of my chocolate croissant, I snort out a derivative laugh and type out my reply.

Selene: Apparently not today. Aubrey said they’re having strategy meetings, and I’m not needed.

Monique: No Aubrey. No campaign events. No work responsibilities. I’m not seeing the problem here.

Selene: The problem is, I have nothing to do.

Monique: Selene, you’re a grown woman with free will. Go out and enjoy your day. Get a massage, go shopping, rent out a theater, and go see a movie.

Only one of those options sounds truly appealing to me, so I thank Monique for her suggestions and set a plan for an outing into motion.

An hour later, Aubrey’s strategy meeting is well underway, and I’m walking out of the suite to meet Cal and Bec—Agent Beckham, in the hallway.

My heart does this weird half-beat when I see that they’re both dressed down, wearing dark jeans and well-fitting t-shirts that match the casual look of my white button-up, light-washed denim, and sneakers.

Almost like we’re going on a date, my brain supplies giddily.

I cringe at the thought, reminding myself that the two men in front of me have never given me any indication that they are interested in me romantically or otherwise.

They have only ever been the picture of professionalism, and any lapse in their professional personas—such as the meal we shared in my office or the moment when Cal told me my only flaw was my love for Aubrey—was orchestrated and prompted by me.

Frankly, it’s concerning that I even need to be reminded of those facts, that I’m so lonely I’m having inappropriate dreams and projecting romantic feelings onto people who are paid to be around me.

The line of thought dampens my mood slightly, leaving me sullen and withdrawn as we navigate the streets of Madison, heading towards downtown, where my research has told me all the best shops are.

When we arrive at the boutique I requested to visit first, I see that Agents Harris and Anderson are already there.

They salute us from the inside of their car parked right in front of the store, watching as we head inside the store, which is empty save for the overzealous owner who begins to fawn all over us as soon as we enter.

“Please let me know if you need anything , Mrs. Taylor,” she says, trailing my steps as I peruse the rack closest to the door. “If there’s something you like that’s not in your size, don’t worry. I can have it altered and delivered to your hotel in twenty-four hours.”

“That’s very sweet, Dana. I will be sure to let you know.”