Page 54 of The Illusion of Power (Passion and Politics #1)

SELENE

T he only good thing that comes out of my pre-dawn meeting with the trio from hell is that I’m up early enough to insinuate myself into the jog I know Beck and Cal take every morning.

They were surprised when I met them in the lobby with my workout gear on and an exhausted Agent Ortega at my back.

Once he confirmed they had agreed to take me on a run, he took his leave, too tired to ask further questions.

We spent an hour out in the sunshine in fresh air, walking too close to each other, risking everything for the brush of a pinky or a graze of each other’s skin.

But mostly, we just talked. About everything.

About nothing. About life and the things we wanted for ourselves while hinting at the things we wanted with each other.

It was a beautiful morning, and when we return back to the hotel, I’m loathe to tuck the happiness I feel when I’m with them away, exchanging it for the quiet numbness that allows me to keep my features neutral when I face the swarm of cameras and reporters waiting for me outside the hotel.

“Selene! A moment, please!” Someone shouts from the crowd, shoving a microphone in my face. Cal slaps it out of their hand.

“Back the fuck up,” he snarls, and the person stumbles back.

“Stay close,” Beck tells me, using his body and the force of his will to part the crowd for me while Cal keeps people off my back, literally.

I take measured steps, keeping my breaths even as the overlapping voices, flashing cameras, and crush of bodies create a sensory nightmare that makes me want to scream.

By the time we make it inside the elevator, my body and brain are buzzing, and I’m ready to come out of my skin.

“You need—” Beck asks, his question cut in half by the nod of my head.

I don’t just need the hug. I crave it. The compassion in the compression.

The perfection of the pressure. No one has mastered it as quickly as Beck has.

I thought Aubrey was good at it, but after this morning, I can’t even fathom what it would be like to be calmed by his touch.

Cal steps in front of me, splitting an inquisitive gaze between Beck and I. “Can I try?”

There’s no time to think—not that I need to spend a second considering his question—so I launch myself at him. He grunts at the force, and I can’t even be bothered to apologize.

“It has to be tight,” Beck tells him, the same patience in his voice that was present in Cal’s last night when he would tell me what our partner needed.

I like that he has enough of an understanding of me to recreate that kind of loving instruction, that Cal cares enough to learn.

“Tighter than you would think,” he adds when Cal wraps me up in his arms but hesitates to apply serious pressure.

Beck’s reassurance bolsters him, and I whimper against his chest when the hug turns deep, almost bone-crushing. My eyes are squeezed shut, but I can feel him panicking, trying to let go. I hold on tight.

“No, please, don’t let go yet.”

We don’t have enough time. We never have enough time, but we use this time wisely.

Cal doesn’t let me go until he absolutely has to.

I step back from him, and he returns to his place at my side just before the doors open on the floor of my suite, revealing the last two people I expect to see sitting on the bench in front of the elevator bank.

“Mom? Mo?”

They both look up from their phones as Cal, Beck, and I step into their space.

Both of them look a little haggard, like they’ve been up all night and traveling all day.

Mo has bags under her eyes. Mama’s blouse is wrinkled.

Their purses are thrown on top of their suitcases, which have been shoved off to the side to keep the walkway clear.

“Selene!” Mama shouts, her voice loud and filled with worry, as she rushes up and pulls me into a hug that smells like Daddy and home. I haven’t seen her in almost a year, probably since last Christmas, and although I don’t understand why she’s here, I’m glad she is.

“What are you doing here?” I pull back, holding her at arm’s length. She looks good. Her mahogany skin wrinkled in some places but still mostly supple, making her appear younger than her almost seventy years.

“I came to see you!”

“ We came to see you,” Monique says, wiggling herself between us while Mama rolls her eyes. “Mama J was worried about you since you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Y’all got on a plane because I wasn’t answering the phone?”

“No, we got on two separate planes because you weren’t answering the phone after somebody plastered your husband laid up with his mistress in your bed all over the internet.”

“Monique!” Mama swats her on the shoulder, cutting her eyes at Cal and Beck. “We don’t need to get into this when we’re standing in front of perfect strangers.”

The thought of exercising discretion when everyone in the world knows my business is laughable, but the idea of keeping anything from the two men behind me feels ridiculous.

And it would feel that way even if I didn’t know what Beck feels like inside of me or what Cal’s face looks like when he comes.

All Mama’s admonishment does is draw Monique’s attention to them. She bats her lashes and her mouth curves into her signature flirty grin. “Oh, MJ, these aren’t perfect strangers. That’s Agent—” she pauses, blanking on Cal’s name while her hand hangs uselessly in the air in front of him.

“Drake,” he supplies, the corners of his mouth pulling up into an indulgent smile.

Monique snaps her fingers and nods while Cal and Mama shake hands. “Right. Agent Drake and his partner, Agent?—”

Beck lets her flounder for far longer than Cal did, laughing along with us when she starts tossing out random last names that start with a B. “Bradford. Bishop. Bennett. No, um, Beckford?”

“Beckham,” he says, taking Mama’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Grant.”

My mother, who has always had a thing for tall, dark, handsome, and bald men, is especially taken with him. She talks his ear off while they carry her and Monique’s bags down to their respective rooms and looks genuinely displeased when he leaves to stand guard outside the door.

“Damn, those men are fine,” Monique exclaims, plopping down on the couch. I’m still standing, my hands on my hips as I look between her and my mother.

“Did you come all the way to Las Vegas to fawn over my security?”

She throws an arm over her face, sighing dramatically. “We already told you that we came to check on you.”

“And I already told both of you, via text, that I’m fine.”

I’m more than fine. Actually, the more time that passes, the better I feel. Especially if that time is spent with my men.

“You didn’t text me,” Mama grumbles. “I got a phone call from Robin.”

“But either way, you knew that I was okay.”

“No, we know that you said you’re okay, but you’ve been saying that since you first found out about the affair, Sel.”

“I know that, Mo, and I’ve been telling the truth.”

“How is that possible, baby?” Mama asks. “I mean, honestly, if you can tell me how you’re just so okay with this level of betrayal, then I’ll have that handsome young man take me to the airport right now and go home.”

Monique sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth and does a body roll. “He can take me somewhere, but it won’t be the airport.”

Mama frowns. “Girl, have some respect for your elders, I’m sitting right here.”

“MJ, don’t act like you wouldn’t take Beck for a ride if he offered you one.”

I shudder at the thought. “Mo, please.”

“You two are no fun,” she pouts, leaving her spot on the couch to head for the mini bar.

“We’re in Vegas for God’s sake, and if you—” she points at me with a miniature bottle of tequila “—aren’t going to tell us what’s going on with you and that monster in the Presidential suite, then we might as well have some fun.

Have some drinks. Share a couple of laughs.

Act like we care that it’s been forever since we’ve seen each other. ”

I’ll give Mo one thing: she’s a hell of a saleswoman. Her little speech takes all the fight out of me, and I cross the room, pulling her into a tight hug, hoping she doesn’t smell Cal on me.

“Thank you for making the trip.”

“Of course, Sel. Anything for you.”

Next, I go to Mama. She’s already on her feet with open, waiting arms when I get to her.

I settle into her embrace and let the fact that she was actually worried enough to get on a plane wash over me, heal a little piece of me that is still deeply wounded by all the times my buried emotions and unusual reactions cost me her affection and concern.

“I love you, Selene, and I’m here, baby, for whatever you need.”

“I know, Ma, and I appreciate you. Right now, all I need is a shower.”

She and Monique agree to allow me out of their sight long enough for me to go back up to my suite and shower. I rush through my routine, surprised at how eager I am to get back to them, which, of course, means that Aubrey appears out of nowhere to delay me.

When I emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and nothing more, he’s in my room, leaning against the door.

His presence throws me, but I don’t let it show, even as images of the way he handled me this morning rush through my mind.

Instead of addressing him, I move around the room like I normally would if I were alone, while the weight of his gaze haunts my every step.

I’m sitting at the foot of the bed, slathering on lotion, when he finally decides to speak.

“Did you enjoy your walk?”

“Yes.”

“Did you call your mom and Monique here?”

Letting out a deep sigh, I stand and step into my panties, pulling them on underneath my towel. “I didn’t, but I’m glad they’re here.”

“You need to get them to leave.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because them rushing in after the release of the pictures makes it look like you’re seeking support from someone other than me.”

I turn my back to him and drop my towel, lotioning my breasts and stomach before putting on my bra. “Well, you were seeking pussy from someone other than me, so I guess we’re even.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have had to get pussy from someone else if you weren’t such a cold bitch,” he spits.

The insult is an arrow launched straight at my heart, but it misses its mark by a mile.

Months ago, hell, even yesterday, it probably would have wounded me, but after last night, it can’t touch me.

I’m insulated by the power that comes from holding two men’s pleasure in my hands and leaving them both satisfied, protected by the memories of Cal’s worshipful hands and Beck’s reverent tongue.

They wanted me, desired me, craved me.

And I rest easy in the knowledge that whatever I am—cold, stoic, dispassionate—is safe with them. It was never safe with Aubrey, though, and I don’t think I was either.

“We’ve already done this scene,” I tell him, intentionally making my voice flatter. “I’m bored with it now.”

His mouth drops, and maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the stress from the campaign, but it takes him a full two minutes to come up with a response. I count the seconds in my head as I put on my clothes.

“That’s quite the shift in attitude,” he sneers.

“What happened to the woman who used to beg me to explain why I fucked my speech writer and how many times I did it? What happened to the woman who wanted to analyze my state of mind and needed to understand the logistics of coordinating an affair and running a campaign?”

“She’s gone.” I wave my hands down my fully clothed body. “All you get now is me: the woman who doesn’t give a fuck about where you stick your dick.”

Wild blue eyes rush over my face, looking for a crack in my expression. “You’re not even the least bit curious how I did it? How I fucked her in our bed without you even knowing?”

I press my lips into a flat line of disinterest and shake my head. “No.”

His face is beet red. The muscle in his jaw pulses rapidly, and he swipes an agitated hand over his face as I move past him to get to the door. He doesn’t try to stop me. He just turns, so he can watch me go.

“Does your new boyfriend have something to do with your change of heart?”

The question is so random, so out of left field, I’m actually convincing when I stop halfway out the door just to turn around and laugh in his face. “I don’t have a new boyfriend, Aubrey. I just don’t give a fuck about you.”

He stands in stunned silence as I leave, and I spend the ride back down to Mama and Monique, hoping he didn’t see right through me.