Politics Ch. 02

"'Til next time," he said, gripping Kessen firmly by the hand again before leaving the conference room.

Erika smiled at the overweight man. The million pound donation was theirs. And Kessen had definitely bought into the campaign.

The meeting had progressed even better than she'd anticipated. Alistair was always superb on occasions like this, his powerful convictions guaranteed to win over the vast majority of interested parties. He'd used Thomas's briefing as a basis for the meeting, but had stamped his own personality on it from the first minute.

Then there was her contribution. It hadn't taken long for the Scandinavian beauty to sense Guus Kessen's taste in beautiful women. Most women had a sixth sense about these sorts of things, and hers was rarely wrong. The way his eyes had instantly devoured her throughout the meeting had confirmed the fact.

She could use that to her advantage. This was a multi millionaire after all. Experiences to date had told her never to miss an opportunity, and where there wasn't one, get creative!

Moving chairs so that their knees touched, she resumed the flirting that had started an hour earlier. Her hand touched his arm. With his curly, black hair and bright smile, the self-made multi millionaire presented a larger than life image. Add the charcoal grey suit, red tie and crisp white shirt, he looked every inch the successful businessman he was.

It was a shame he was so heavily overweight, but then, some sacrifices were necessary if you had your eye on the bigger picture.

"So, Guus," she smiled, stroking her fingers along his suit covered arm. There was little time to spare before tonight's dinner, but this was an investment worth making. "Tell me about Thomas. You've known him long?"

"A couple of years," the Dutchman smiled, resting his hand on hers. "He got me to buy into the Barnardo's project. And quite a few other's, too. He's quite a persuasive young man. Tenacious, too."

Erika laughed, shuffling closer so that her breast pressed against his forearm. "Just what we want for our final push. There's a lot of work to be done. As Alistair said earlier, we're three points behind according to the latest polls."

"Get him to involve his girlfriend," the large man responded. "With the exception of present company, she's the best looking woman in London. She came along to a couple of functions. It helps to have some eye candy when you're looking to oil the wheels, don't you think?"

The Swedish woman's laugh filled the room. She and the Dutchman spoke the same language. This could be an interesting relationship.

***

The white wine slid deliciously down Katie's throat. She adored moments like this, soaking in her long bath with a chilled glass of Chablis, and small candles circling the bathtub. It felt decadent somehow.

Regrettably, she didn't have too much time. Why was Brian insisting that she accompany him to the charity bash? She didn't like thinking of herself as simply eye candy? She wasn't borne to simply dangle off any man's arm. She realised it helped when networking, though it was beyond her why he wanted to network in the first place?

They had a successful business model. They didn't need any more help.

Maybe he just wanted to spend time with her out of the office? He'd hinted at that before, though had never gone through with it. Katie was unsure how she felt about that, though the sensations running through her body insisted she wasn't averse to the idea. Perhaps tonight would be the night she made her dream come true? Suck his cock on the way home?

The ridiculous thought turned the tingle up a notch. Instantly, her mind jumped from Brian to Eduardo. The café owner must be sixty if he was a day, but reminded her so much of the Tico at her Prom night. Just the thought of taking the elderly South American's 'snake' from his trousers and sliding it into her mouth made her body shiver despite the warmth of the bath…

Oh, God! Maybe she should call in to see him tomorrow? Tell him she couldn't purchase her breakfast from him again? Brian had personally taken her to task about it again today! Perhaps she should time her visit just as he opened? Without any customers there? Then…

Replacing her glass of wine on the edge of the tub, she slid her hand downwards, across her flat stomach and down into the juncture between her legs. Brushing her fingers through her dark bush, she found her swollen clit. The aroused woman imagined what it would be like to suck the café owner to orgasm. Swallow his seed the way she had with the Costa Rican.

Her breath caught. She was so close, yet… Damn, she didn't have time for this. Brian's car was collecting her in an hour.

Reaching to her left, she picked up her little pink razor and the bottle of body wash. Tipping some of the soapy liquid into the palm of her hand, she dropped the bottle onto the bathroom floor and lifting one long leg from the murky water. The pale, wet skin glistened in the candlelight as she applied the lotion. As she shaved her legs, she imagined Eduardo touching them. Running his fingers over the smooth flesh.

She grew hotter. Her heart trembled. She switched legs. Repeated the process. Her touches became more sensual. She ran her fingertips up the inside of her taut thighs. Would he like her like that? Would he be gentle, or rough?

Setting the razor in the soap dish, she hooked one leg up over the rim of the tub and spread her thighs. Her fingers swarmed her sex as she thrust her hips forward. He'd be rough, she thought, her lips parting in a gasp as her pubic mound rose above the bubble-filled water. Her left hand parted her damp thatch of dark curls as her right buried two fingers into her pussy.

"Nooo—" she gasped, the word tumbling out in a handful of syllables. Tearing her hands away, she clutched the edge of the bath and forced herself to breath. If she went down that road, she'd be late and the driver would be pounding on her door. Lowering her head into the warm water, she let her dark hair soak. She still had things to do…

When her heart had returned to a more comfortable rate, she reached again for the lotion on the floor and her razor. She'd purchased a new seamless corset and thong to go beneath her snug cocktail dress, but hadn't realized how small the panties were until just before this bath.

Regarding herself in the mirror, her dark pubic hair was sexily evident through the gold panties. She giggled, rejecting the idea to change as she thought of her large lingerie collection. Katie probably spent more money on items that no one but her ever saw than her suits and outfits.

Lingerie had become her private obsession—her way of acting out sexually. The psychiatrist in her had already psychoanalysed it. She'd always been on the conservative side when it came to sex, but inwardly, perhaps she wanted to rebel. She did it through thongs, g-strings, garter belts, thigh-highs, bustiers, or whatever else struck her fancy that day.

Wondering whether she should go for a more daring look, she felt a tingle pass across her sex as she ran her fingers through her pubic hair. It was the same feeling she'd received the first time she'd purchased a thong—that illicit sensation of doing something acceptable, yet naughty.

Katie had never done much 'down there'. Trimmed herself a little. Shaved it around the sides to accommodate her shrinking lingerie. She knew that the trend these days was much more extreme.

Her fingers shook as she lathered the sides of her thatch and began to narrow it.

Starting at the top and moving down the sides, she slowly worked her way between her legs. It didn't take long to finish her task, but even as she washed all the soap away, she thought about the style. Of all those sexy, confident girls in the glossy magazines.

Sighing, she set her razor back onto the soap basin and sank fully beneath the water. She wasn't so daring. She was Katie Nichols, thirty-year-old professional. Maybe in another life.

***

"You're joshing me," Thomas gasped, glancing around the sumptuous room.

The opulent setting of the seventeenth century Banqueting House may have been the perfect venue for such a prestigious dinner, but it was a little grand for his tastes. The crystal chandeliers, Rubens ceiling, and breath taking canvasses adorning the walls all said one thing. Money!

Yet it wasn't the venue his shock was aimed at. It was what Sally had just imparted. It couldn't be true. Could it?

"You need to be aware," the redhead added with a slow nod of her head. "Just in case you need to handle the doomsday scenario!"

"Doomsday scenario?"

"Absolutely," she answered, finishing off Thomas's cheesecake as well as her own. For someone so tiny, he wondered where she put it all.

"Explain, please!" he said, his mind whirring in a mixture of shock. He'd thought that Alistair and Erika were the perfect couple, though admittedly the view was based on what he'd read in the press. Sally's confession that they both fucked other people, as she'd indelicately put it, had been as unexpected as it had taken him aback.

"Say the media finds out," she whispered, pushing the second sweet plate away. "You'll be the one handling it."

"If the media finds out," he replied with a frown, "there'll be no campaign. Look… what exactly do you mean, they fuck other people?"

"Oh, Thomas," she laughed, running a hand through her short hair. It always looked perfect, even when all she'd done was to run a comb through it. "I've been so impressed with you up to this point. It's called a swinging lifestyle! All the rage, as I understand it."

Dabbing her mouth with the red serviette, she eased back in her seat. Nudging his leg with her knee, she fluttered her eyelashes as she glanced across at Alistair and Erika, and then back at Thomas again.

"Fuck me," he said, sinking back in his seat.

Sally's perfectly manicured eyebrows rose again. "Really? I will if you want to. But Jeremy might object. I mean, he's said he always fancied a threesome, but I don't think he meant with another man."

Thomas blushed. His cock twitched. "Behave yourself," he scolded. "I have a girlfriend."

"So," she said, giving him a child-like grin as she laughed that little girl laugh of hers. "Maybe she'd be interested?"

"Sally!" he snapped.

The redhead gave her little girl laugh. "You're not a swinger, then?"

"I'm faithful," he said, as if that explained everything.

"Pleased to hear it," she told him, her smug eyes telling him she was enjoying his discomfort. Still, there was something about her new 'faithful' colleague that appealed. That she found sexually attractive. She'd never fucked a fair-haired man for a start. And tempting him off the straight and narrow could be fun…

"Anyway," she continued, dismissing the idea for the moment at least. "I thought you were perceptive? Surely you've been with us long enough now to have gauged Alistair's appetite?"

"Appetite?"

Her eyes hit the ceiling. Shaking her head in bemusement at his stupidity, she added, "Women."

"Women?"

"For God's sake, Thomas," she rasped, her exasperation obvious.

Kincaid shook his head. Could it really be true? Hell, he'd asked a dozen different people about Brinkley-Jones before agreeing to work for him, and there wasn't a hint of this. The Senator did seem to enjoy the company of women… that was for sure. But when you had a girlfriend like Erika...

"How do you know about it?" he asked.

"I'm aware," was all she was willing to confess.

Her blush made him wonder. No, surely not? "Does Erika know?" he uncertainly asked, still a little dumbstruck.

"For fuck's sake, Thomas," Sally responded, shooting him one of those looks. "I've told you. They're both swingers…"

For a few seconds, he stared into her hazel coloured eyes, trying to come to terms with the shocking revelation. What the hell had he got himself into? He was the last person to judge someone on their morals. Live and let live! But he needed to work out if his faith in the black politician was damaged. Was this really the man who could change the country for the better?

Right now, he wasn't sure.

***

Katie smiled at her partner for the evening as they returned to their table. Brian Sterling had insisted that they 'work the crowd,' telling the chestnut haired beauty that networking was an underrated part of their duties. That was why she was there, he told her, and despite his grin she knew it wasn't a joke. It as a relief to know he saw her as more than just eye-candy—not that she ever really believed that. For Sterling, business always came first.

The Scotsman held her chair for her before sliding into the adjoining seat. "Very good, my dear," he murmured.

It was true. The beautiful, pale skinned woman had charmed all the contacts he'd made sure they bumped into. Bringing her to the charity bash as his guest had been a brainwave.

"You can't underestimate the power of networking," he told her, pouring them both some more wine before clinking glasses. God, she was beautiful, even more so tonight. The high-necked gold dress suited her pale skin, while the way she'd curled her shoulder length chestnut brown hair onto the top of her head in true Audrey Hepburn style.

"But why?" she naively asked, blushing a little as she felt his gaze run over her body. "I mean, in our profession…"

The Senior Partner smiled like an adoring father at his child. This was Katie's one area of weakness, but then commercial awareness only came with experience. "My dear," he patiently sighed, staring into those large, luminous brown eyes. "There are lots of people here who can be of use to us!"

"Of use?" she laughed. "You make it sound so clinical. Well, we've met them all now, so perhaps we can relax and enjoy the evening?"

"All but one," he told her, glancing around the room. "Alistair Brinkley-Jones is a good friend of mind. But there's also a good chance he'll be the next Prime Minister. As a friend, I'd clearly like that to happen. But as the Senior Partner of the most reputable West End psychiatric practice, it will be a godsend. We've got to say hello before the evening ends."

"Why are his political aspirations a godsend?"

"You really are adorable when you look at me like that," he told her, reaching out to stroke her cheek. "But you're as frustrating as can be when you're that obtuse. It's a good job you're becoming such a brilliant psychiatrist! Listen, Katie, just think of the doors he can open for us. To the rich and famous. Many of whom are here tonight."

Thinking of wealthy clients who came in to talk about how 'hard' their lives were, it all made sense. "They all need help, and who better to turn to than the firm recommended by the next Prime Minister!" she laughed.

Sterling's laughter joined hers. They drew glances from others at the table, but he didn't care. At last, she was getting it! He raised his glass and finished, "Right! Exactly. This crowd consists of exactly the people who do need psychiatry!"

***

"Champagne, Lady?" a handsome, young caterer asked, offering her a tray covered in flutes of champagne. Lady Olivia Hershey looked from the glasses to the server, smiling demurely. He's cute… she thought, taking a glass with a quiet smile. Maybe he could cure her of her boredom?

"Thank you, kind sir." Her mind formed the words, When do you get off but her mouth couldn't voice them. He smiled back and receded before she could work up the courage.

"Slow down, child," Olivia's mother scolded, stepping up behind her.

"I'm not a child, mother," the young woman whined under her breath. She was so fucking tired of being babied. She was twenty. She was a woman.

"Keep it down," the Lady Eloise Hershey chided, summoning the commanding voice that had been bred into her. "You may not be a child, but you've certainly perfected acting like one."

Olivia rolled her eyes and looked away, fuming. This time, she held her tongue. The two of them had had this conversation too many times. Olivia never won.

"Really, dear, you're acting like a commoner." She spat the word. "You'll understand, one of these days. But for now, please humour me and act like the royalty you are."

Olivia was shaking. She wanted to stamp her feet, plug up her ears, and scream at the top of her lungs. She wanted to cause a scene in front of all these people. She wanted to shame her mother.

But she didn't. She never did. Instead, she took a deep breath, squared back her shoulders, and forced herself to relax. Closing her eyes, she focused on the murmur of conversation around her, and the harmonious chords of the three-string orchestra. She heard her mother say, "That's it, dear. Excellent posture…" but tuned out the rest of the lecture.

Was this what her whole life would be like? Guided by protocol and etiquette? Centred on the proper utensils to use at the dinner table, and how to look down your nose at everyone not of royal blood?

"Look at them swarm. Disgraceful," Olivia heard her mother cluck. Opening her eyes, she followed her haughty glare to a handsome black man, currently entertaining a cadre of bankers. She recognized Alistair Brinkley-Jones from his television spots, although despite his wealthy background, the royals didn't associate with them. "Some people think that man is going to be the next Prime Minister! Think of the shame that would bring to England. A black man! We'd be no better than the mongrels in America."

Olivia grinded her teeth, but still held her tongue. Her mother's racism was nothing new—and was shared by almost everyone she knew.

But as she watched the tall man across the room, she couldn't understand why. He seemed as articulate as anyone else she knew, and even though she couldn't hear him talk, she felt herself drawn to him. The man exuded charisma. His gestures were grand, his smile disarming.

As if sensing her looking, the politician glanced over at the two of them, meeting Olivia's eyes. She felt a shiver run down her spine. He flashed a white-toothed smile before returning to his immediate surrounding.

Okay, the young royal admitted, he was sexy, too. She could admit that—to herself, anyway. Tall. Broad shoulders. Even his wavy, black hair was sexy. And how scandalous would it be to go out with a black man! That thought alone sent a jolt between her legs.

She polished off her glass of champagne and looked around for another. It was her mother's fault she was here in the first place. Hob-knobbing was about as interesting as afternoon tea at her aunt's summer home. Glancing at Alistair Brinkley-Jones one more time, she fantasized about making it a little more interesting.

Only in her dreams.

***

Thomas flicked his mobile phone closed with a soft sigh. Had Becky been home when he'd returned to get ready for tonight's dinner, he could have calmed his girlfriend there and then. God knows where she'd been. The conversation he'd just had with her had carried on from this morning's mood. Clearly her disposition hadn't improved as the day had progressed.

He understood.

His early starts, and often late finishes, had resulted in him seeing less of Rebecca since he'd accepted the job. He'd known from the Blair campaign that this was likely to happen, though even he was surprised at the hours he needed to put in. Nor had he realised just how big a problem it would be for Becky.

Like her, he was feeling 'the need', their sex life being the first thing to suffer. Things would ease, he was sure, as he settled into the role and felt in control, but right now that was little consolation. To either of them.

What made things worse was her frustration over the aerobics class. Her desire to open her own business had grown with each passing day. It was now an obsession. Today had been particularly frustrating. They'd identified all the financial institutions she could approach.