Senator Scandal: A Political Romance Read online

  Senator Scandal

  A Political Romance

  Chloe Lane

  Contents

  Senator Scandal

  Mailing List

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  About Chloe Lane

  Senator Scandal

  I’m not supposed to screw my personal scheduler.

  Not only do I have a sterling political reputation to protect, she’s just too innocent—fresh out of college, and her first job is right here in my new office in DC.

  I’m not supposed to want her. I’m not supposed to look at her the way I do. I’m not supposed to notice the curves of her body underneath her little skirt suits, or the way she looks at me when she says Yes, Senator.

  But I can’t hold back any longer.

  I have to have her.

  The Senator is out of my league.

  Not only is he devastatingly handsome, he’s just on the verge of being too old for me. I shouldn’t be lusting over a man like him—powerful, attractive, and my boss.

  I can’t stop the dirty thoughts I have about him. I can’t stop fantasizing about him after hours…and while I’m sitting at my desk, managing his personal schedule.

  It’ll ruin his reputation if anyone finds out…

  But how can I say no?

  Senator Scandal is a quick, dirty, steamy standalone political romance with an alpha hero who will have you melting, a heroine who’s head-over-heels, and a sweet-like-candy HEA. If you’re looking for something over the top and molten hot, this is it!

  Mailing List

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  xoxo Chloe

  Chapter 1

  Marci

  My entire body is buzzing with anticipation. I’m sitting in my government issue swivel chair, the padding already conforming to my ass, and I’m giddy. There might as well be an entire hive of bees swarming around my stomach.

  I’ve been in the Senator’s new office for too long this morning already, and I know it. I also know that I’ll be here early every single morning until he leaves office, because there is no way I’ll be able to sleep knowing that he might need something, that his phone might go unanswered if I’m not here.

  This is my first big job—really big, bigger than working for Senator Sterling on the campaign—and now that he’s won the election and brought me along as his personal scheduler, I’ve developed a little…obsession with doing this job absolutely to perfection. I’ve always had a knack for time management. It’s not exactly a sexy qualification, but it’s what got me hired on to help with the campaign in the first place.

  And I know—I know—how lucky I was to land the position. I was incredibly lucky, and it’s all because Mr. Sterling—Senator Sterling—took a chance on me. Fresh out of college, the ink barely dry on the diploma making my bachelor’s in political science official, in a pin-striped skirt suit I’d bought from Macy’s the day before, and he’d taken me seriously. His eyes had never once strayed down to the pink silk shell I wore under the jacket, its demure neckline just peeking out modestly from under the lapels.

  I bite my lip at the memory of sitting across from him at campaign headquarters, the solid metal expanse of the desk erecting a few feet of space between us. I should never admit it out loud—I won’t admit it out loud—but the moment I saw his picture on social media, I wanted to work for him. Of course, there’s a certain amount of prestige that comes with working on a winning campaign, but beyond that—and this is the thing I can never, ever tell anyone—Senator Sterling is drop-dead gorgeous.

  He’s tall and handsome, his hair thick and dark except for a few errant strands of gray, and by the way his muscles flex under his suit jacket, it’s obvious that the rumors about him spending an hour in the gym each morning no matter what the weather’s like is true. If I could get away with it, I’d spend all day looking at him.

  I let a little smile play across my lips. At least in this line of work, I’ll have plenty of excuses to look at him. It’s not so bad to have a few private fantasies about him, is it? It’s not like I’d be the only one. There are whispers that DC Magazine is considering him as its Most Eligible Bachelor on the Hill this year, and this is just the first day of his inaugural term.

  I can’t help but laugh a little under my breath. It’s true that Senator Sterling is a bachelor—I don’t know how he’s made it to 37 with a face like his and a body like that without getting married—but I know for a fact that he’s not looking. There was more than one night during the campaign when we’d grab a pizza after the rest of the staff went home, and inevitably, his eyes would focus on a distant spot behind me.

  “My reputation is all I have, Marci,” he said once, raising a tumbler of whisky to his lips. It was the only time he’d let himself have a drink—after hours, when all the other staff members had gone to their rooms and there were no errant paparazzi in sight. I still get a little thrill when I think about how he trusted me —letting me see him drink—even if it was just the one at the end of a long day. “That Sterling Reputation slogan wasn’t just for show.”

  Then he’d fixed his ocean blue eyes on mine, sending a jolt of electric heat straight between my legs. “The American people trust me to do the right thing. Any hint of a scandal—any at all—could destroy that image.” He shook his head solemnly, then smiled at me, showing his even white teeth, his one dimple, and something that I couldn’t quite translate flashed in his eyes. “It might get tough, but we can get through this.”

  “Of course,” I’d said, returning his smile, though I didn’t know quite what he meant.

  At least—I pretended not to know what he meant.

  I take in a deep breath and square my shoulders. He’ll be in any minute now, and we’ll be into the rush of the day. My notes for the morning’s meetings are neatly arranged on the first page of a small, yellow legal pad I have balanced on my lap. I’m ready to face him, I’m ready for this.

  The door to the office swings open, and I rise from my seat, a smile plastered on my face that I can’t wipe off.

  “Good morning, Senator.” I keep my voice even and smooth as I step forward, helping him shrug off his overcoat and hanging it on the coat rack beside the door.

  “You’re here early, Marci.” He adjusts the cuffs of his suit jacket. “Ready to go?” Every word out of his mouth rings with authority.

  “More than ready.” My cell phone pings on my desk, and I inhale a surreptitious breath of his scent as he strides past me, heading for his main office. “The rest of the staffers are here, sir. Their office is one floor below. Would you like m
e to go check on them?”

  He pokes his head back out into the office’s waiting area. “Not so fast. I want a rundown of the morning schedule. Are there any tweaks we need to make?”

  The thought comes to my head unbidden. Yes, Senator. I’d like to block out some time for you to bend me over your desk, spread my legs wide, and…

  It’s so dirty that it takes me aback. I thought the time off between the campaign and starting this job would help clear my head, help me focus on the fact that I’m here to work, and nothing else.

  I was wrong.

  It must show in the heat rising to my cheeks, because the Senator arches one eyebrow at me. “Are you all right, Marci?” His deep voice sends shocks running down my spine, straight between my legs, but I force myself to look at him and shake my head a little.

  “Absolutely fine, Senator. I’ve got my notes right here,” I say in a too-rushed voice. “First up is a meeting with the committee chair for the Joint Committee on the Library of Congress, and then…”

  He leans up against the doorframe as I talk, and even though I manage to regain my composure, my heart still hammers against my rib cage.

  Day one is off to an exciting start.

  Chapter 2

  Senator Sterling

  When Marci is done reading through this morning’s schedule in her low and sensual voice, articulating each word with precision, one of the traits that attracted me to her the first time we met on the campaign, she gives me a little smile, those full, heart-shaped lips curving upward. It’s just on the line between professionalism and flirting, and it drives me absolutely crazy.

  I can never let it show.

  “Thanks, Marci. That’ll be all for now.” I’ve shifted away from the doorway and taken my seat behind the heavy wooden desk I had sent here from my offices in Connecticut. It’s a good thing, too, because the sultry shape of her graceful frame standing in my doorway—her narrow waist curving into delicate hips, her lithe thighs wrapped in a dove gray pencil skirt—has me rock-hard, my cock pressing painfully against the zipper of my dress pants.

  We had some time off after the campaign ended and before I was sworn in. By the end of it, I was sure that Marci was out of my system and that I could handle being around my talented scheduler without imagining pressing her up against the wall, pinning her wrists above her head, and then grinding up against her, coaxing a little gasp out of those perfect lips…

  Sure, my ass.

  And my new office in the Hart Building is much smaller than the storefront from which I ran my campaign in Connecticut. In those days, we had multiple rooms where I could…catch my breath. Now, as a junior senator in his first term, there is just my main office, the whole thing dominated by my desk and a small sitting area. Just outside the door is a waiting area that holds Marci’s desk, two padded chairs, and a matching loveseat. I have to give her credit for doing an amazing job with the decor. She came in under budget and made the space reflect my image as a senator to a T.

  If only that’s who I really was.

  In a way, I am the upstanding citizen I claimed to be in my campaign, a willing public servant, a responsible member of society. All of that is true. I’m ready to focus my efforts for the next few years on making our country a better place, even if that sounds sickeningly cliché. I don’t have a wife or children. My dad is long dead from a heart attack, and my mother is jet-setting across Europe, because that’s just the kind of woman she is. So there are no distractions.

  Except Marci.

  She’s too young for me. She joined my campaign straight out of college, and I don’t want to think about how that age gap would play out in the DC papers.

  My cock, on the other hand, doesn’t care about the DC papers.

  “Are you sure? Is there anything else you need? Coffee?”

  “Send one of the staffers for it.”

  “Will do.”

  She turns, giving me a view of her pert ass that makes my cock jump. Then she pauses and turns her head back towards me, reaching for the door. “Open or closed?”

  “Closed. I need a few minutes to myself before the meeting.”

  A little smile, a little nod, and she’s pulling the door closed behind her.

  I grip the edge of the desk with both hands. We’re five seconds into the first day, and my body is already screaming for release. I’m never going to be able to sit through these meetings, unless—

  I have ten minutes before Marci comes back in to send me on my way to my first meeting with the committee chair. My cock is still pounding painfully, my pulse ratcheting up even though she’s no longer in the room. No, she’s just on the other side of that door, her breasts rising and falling with every breath she takes, her feet perched on the kitten heels that give her just enough lift to make her petite body seem long…

  I might be Senator Sterling of “Let my sterling reputation make America mightier,” but I can’t play the part—no matter how authentic it is—with a steely erection pressing my pants outward like a tent pole all morning.

  I whip open a desk drawer, pulling out one of the cocktail napkins that Marci keeps stacked there in case I need to offer someone a drink, and with the other hand I deftly unzip my pants. My cock springs out, eager to be free and as hard as it’s ever been, and the only thing I pause to do is arrange a folder in front of me on the desk.

  Teeth gritted, I wrap my fingers around my length and stroke, my mind filling up with images of her—her bent over my desk, pink pussy glistening while I run my hands down the curve of her spine, skirt shoved up to her hips, dark hair coming loose from its carefully coifed style, a blush in the shape of my handprint on the fleshy swell of her ass, soft little mewls coming from her throat as I dip a few fingers into her wet folds, pressing them in until she gives way, gasping—and my hand works in the habitual rhythm I’ve been using since I first started getting myself off.

  It would be so damn wrong. She’s my scheduler, the person who works closest to me in this job, and if anyone was to find out, my sterling reputation would be tarnished forever.

  I’ll never be able to make her mine, except in my fantasies. As the seconds tick by, the images flaring through my mind grow more and more vivid until I have to force myself from saying her name out loud and causing a disaster, because when she opened the door and saw what I was doing, she’d turn and leave and I’d never see her again.

  What finally pushes me over the edge is the thought of her hands grasping for purchase on the shining surface of the desk while I thrust myself inside of her, inch by inch, over and over, filling her so completely that she can only cry out, wordless and stuffed full of me, mine for the taking, mine, mine, mine…

  My orgasm is so powerful that it jerks me forward in my seat, and I catch the spurting release in the napkin.

  For a moment, all my muscles relax, but I don’t have long. I straighten up, wipe away the excess, and twist the napkin up, tossing it into the small garbage container underneath my desk.

  I’ve just finished zipping my pants when there’s a soft knock at the door. Marci’s voice floats through the wood. “Senator Sterling? You’ve got about five minutes before your meeting.”

  Chapter 3

  Marci

  It’s eight o’clock by the time I get back to my tiny apartment on DuPont Circle. The Senator pays well, but even so, my budget is going to be tight while I’m here in DC. And I will be here in DC, just as long as he’s a senator. With his reputation—no pun intended—I’m sure that will be a very long time.

  The only question is, how long can I work with him, day in and day out, smelling the light, spicy scent of his cologne, watching the way his muscles work when he strides out of the waiting area to his meetings?

  I toss my purse on the small table in the entryway and kick off my heels, my feet sighing in relief when they hit the plush carpet.

  I’ve never so much as touched the Senator, unless you count the times our hands have brushed against each other while I’m passing
him paperwork, or the time he gave me a professional hug after he won the campaign. It doesn’t seem to matter. Just being around him has my entire body alight with a kind of lust I was prepared to shove deep down into my gut and never let resurface.

  I unzip my pencil skirt and tug it down over my hips, imagining his strong hands pulling at the waistband instead of mine, and a low moan escapes my lips.

  I’ve been hot for him all day and trying my best to hide it, but I want him. I want him so badly, and I can’t even explain how…or why.

  He’s not my type. For one thing, he’s well into his thirties. And for another, there’s something in his eyes—behind the patriotic professionalism, behind the can-do Connecticut attitude—that speaks of something much too dangerous for me to touch. A man like him—he might want things I’ve never dreamed of. I might not be a match for his desires.

  But God, do I want to be.

  I thought being out on the campaign was hard enough. This is a million times harder.

  I shrug off the fashionable blazer I bought while on vacation, liking how it accents my waist, and then I strip the pink shell over my head. I’m down to the brand new panty set I got last week, its creamy nude color matching my skin, the lace on the bra forming a delicate curve against my breasts. When I was standing in the store, running my fingers over its lines, I pictured the Senator doing the same thing.

  My nipples go hard against the fabric of the bra, and another wave of heat rushes to my cheeks. I’d be lying if I said the panties weren’t damp already, if I said they hadn’t been damp since he walked through his office door this morning.

  I press my thighs together one more time and wander into the bedroom. I spent an afternoon putting it together, smoothing a new white duvet over the sheets, but what I really want to do is to bury my fists in the covers and hold on tight while the Senator…