Read Online The Phoenix Campaign (Grace Colton Book 2) by Heidi Joy Tretheway - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heidi Joy Tretheway
Tags: Political, Erotic Romance
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playfully bat it away. “Sometimes I think you like it.”
“Darlin’, I always like it.” He tries reaching for me again and this time I don’t push him away, letting his finger trace a path across my kneecap. His expression is serious, his eyes fixed on my mouth as his fingers make steady progress up my thigh.
I point to the front of the car. “You sure the privacy screen is enough?”
“Let’s test it out.” His raw, dirty chuckle sends a thrill up my spine. My neck bends to his seeking lips as he nips his way from earlobe to collarbone.
I sigh as I let my knees fall open a little, and purr as Jared pushes my legs further apart. His fingers demand access and I give it, eager to feel the pure, simple high of my lover’s touch.
It’s more than the fact that he lights up my body, sends electricity zinging to every corner of my body. It’s the fact that he sees me, both my polished side meant for public consumption, and my rough edges that make me flawed, fragile, and unique.
I revel in his touch, his kiss, and a familiar tug in my core tells me he’s ratcheting up his demands on my body, his fingers demanding my response. My hand slides up his thigh, eager to take, take, take. When his fingers connect with my panties my breath hitches and my stomach flutters.
“Always so ready,” he growls in my ear, his tongue seeking, his lips teasing.
My breathing shallows as his fingers find their way past the silk barrier, flicking my clit until I throb with need. I glance out the glazed car windows, hoping we have enough time to get me to where I need to be. “More,” I pant.
“I’ll give you more.” Jared’s fingers work me into a frenzy and I’m gasping, shuddering, ready to fling myself off a precipice and spiral into climax and bliss. But then his hand stills.
“Don’t stop now,” I beg him. The car turns onto a residential street and I thrust my hips forward in the seat, desperate to connect with his fingers again.
“We have to.” He pulls his hand from beneath my skirt and I moan with frustration. The devious glint in his eyes betrays his intention.
I grab his wrist. “You meant to stop here?”
He grins. “Guilty.”
I roll his hand over, exposing two fingers that are slick with my moisture. “I hate you a little right now.”
“Oh, but darlin’, I love you.” His cocky smile tells me he’s delighted to be leading me where he wants to go. Even though I fight him on policy, on tactics, and on every decision he makes to propel me forward in this campaign, this little game reaffirms his control when we’re behind closed doors.
“Pussy-teasing bastard.” I pull his hand toward me, locking my eyes on his and taking those two fingers deep into my mouth. I lick him clean, leaving no question of what I could offer him in return. “Just remember that’s what you’ll be missing out on next time you tease me.”
“You think denying me will put you in control?” He tilts his head, his slow drawl dangerously low. “Two can play at this game.”
The SUV rolls to a stop in the driveway of a middle-class home. I shake my head and let out a gah! of frustration.
***
Four cameras, including two shoulder-mounts and a wide-shot on a slider, crowd into the Hales’ living room. I’m seated around a coffee table with Jess and Marcus Hale while their thirteen-year-old son and ten-year-old daughter linger at the kitchen bar across the room.
We talk taxes and the challenge of balancing two full-time jobs with kids to raise and a mortgage to pay. We discuss the real impacts of legislation on middle-class Americans. The gulf between what happens on Capitol Hill and how these programs and policies affect them becomes crystal clear.
“We had to choose between the local public school, which has four portable classrooms taking up most of the blacktop on the playground, and thirty-three kids in Elise’s fourth-grade class, or paying for a private school,” Jess tells me.
“But if we went the
“Darlin’, I always like it.” He tries reaching for me again and this time I don’t push him away, letting his finger trace a path across my kneecap. His expression is serious, his eyes fixed on my mouth as his fingers make steady progress up my thigh.
I point to the front of the car. “You sure the privacy screen is enough?”
“Let’s test it out.” His raw, dirty chuckle sends a thrill up my spine. My neck bends to his seeking lips as he nips his way from earlobe to collarbone.
I sigh as I let my knees fall open a little, and purr as Jared pushes my legs further apart. His fingers demand access and I give it, eager to feel the pure, simple high of my lover’s touch.
It’s more than the fact that he lights up my body, sends electricity zinging to every corner of my body. It’s the fact that he sees me, both my polished side meant for public consumption, and my rough edges that make me flawed, fragile, and unique.
I revel in his touch, his kiss, and a familiar tug in my core tells me he’s ratcheting up his demands on my body, his fingers demanding my response. My hand slides up his thigh, eager to take, take, take. When his fingers connect with my panties my breath hitches and my stomach flutters.
“Always so ready,” he growls in my ear, his tongue seeking, his lips teasing.
My breathing shallows as his fingers find their way past the silk barrier, flicking my clit until I throb with need. I glance out the glazed car windows, hoping we have enough time to get me to where I need to be. “More,” I pant.
“I’ll give you more.” Jared’s fingers work me into a frenzy and I’m gasping, shuddering, ready to fling myself off a precipice and spiral into climax and bliss. But then his hand stills.
“Don’t stop now,” I beg him. The car turns onto a residential street and I thrust my hips forward in the seat, desperate to connect with his fingers again.
“We have to.” He pulls his hand from beneath my skirt and I moan with frustration. The devious glint in his eyes betrays his intention.
I grab his wrist. “You meant to stop here?”
He grins. “Guilty.”
I roll his hand over, exposing two fingers that are slick with my moisture. “I hate you a little right now.”
“Oh, but darlin’, I love you.” His cocky smile tells me he’s delighted to be leading me where he wants to go. Even though I fight him on policy, on tactics, and on every decision he makes to propel me forward in this campaign, this little game reaffirms his control when we’re behind closed doors.
“Pussy-teasing bastard.” I pull his hand toward me, locking my eyes on his and taking those two fingers deep into my mouth. I lick him clean, leaving no question of what I could offer him in return. “Just remember that’s what you’ll be missing out on next time you tease me.”
“You think denying me will put you in control?” He tilts his head, his slow drawl dangerously low. “Two can play at this game.”
The SUV rolls to a stop in the driveway of a middle-class home. I shake my head and let out a gah! of frustration.
***
Four cameras, including two shoulder-mounts and a wide-shot on a slider, crowd into the Hales’ living room. I’m seated around a coffee table with Jess and Marcus Hale while their thirteen-year-old son and ten-year-old daughter linger at the kitchen bar across the room.
We talk taxes and the challenge of balancing two full-time jobs with kids to raise and a mortgage to pay. We discuss the real impacts of legislation on middle-class Americans. The gulf between what happens on Capitol Hill and how these programs and policies affect them becomes crystal clear.
“We had to choose between the local public school, which has four portable classrooms taking up most of the blacktop on the playground, and thirty-three kids in Elise’s fourth-grade class, or paying for a private school,” Jess tells me.
“But if we went the
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