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Fall Out
Years before the fog
Ryan Wilson
Running my fingertips over the smooth teak desk, my lips twitched. To any passing assistant, the gesture might have been described as a sneer, or a smirk at least, but I intended it to be a smile. Life was good and everything was going according to plan. I had reasons to smile.
I’d been leader of the Conservative party for a little over two years, and every poll for the last nine months had my party at least twenty points ahead of its rivals. Barring an act of God, there would be a general election in the next six months, and I would become Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.
Prime minister!
Pressing my palms against the wood, I imagined how sweet that day would be. As prime minister, I’d finally have the respect and accolades I deserved. I already led a life of extraordinary wealth and privilege, but my premiership would be the icing on the rather delectable cake. I couldn’t wait.
The jarring pitch of the phone on my desk diverted my attention from the pleasing mental image to the shrill-sounding device. Reaching for the receiver, I lifted it to my ear.
“Wilson.” My voice was gravelly as my free hand lowered between my thighs.
“Ryan.” Sam Stanton’s dulcet tone was instantly recognizable and invited my lips to stretch wider. Sam was one of my oldest friends. He was knowledgeable, sane, and above all else, he was loyal. I appreciated dedication above almost anything else. “Can you talk?”
“Sam!” My fingers curled in the soft hair of the woman forced onto her knees beneath my desk. She’d been there a long time, but at least her incessant sobbing seemed to be over. Perhaps she’d remembered what she was useful for. “Good to hear from you.”
“I said, can you talk?” Sam’s tone dismissed any pleasantries.
“Not on this line.” I shook my head as though Sam should have known better. Frankly, he should have. He might not have been in politics, but he was bright enough to know our conversations needed to stay off the record. “If it’s important, we can speak on our mobiles. The secret service has got me an encrypted line.”
I knew enough people who could delete the records of my private chats, or, if it came to it, men who could make the correspondence disappear altogether.
“It’s important.” Sam’s curt response might have grated a less self-assured man, but it barely affected me. The warning laced in Sam’s tone held no fear. I was Ryan Wilson, after all. I was basically untouchable.
“So, call the mobile.” I sighed, my digits stiffening in the folds of silky gold hair by my knees. Why was Sam wasting my time?
“Fine.”
The monotonous whirr of the dialing tone assured me that the line was dead, and placing down the receiver, my hand slipped to the mobile in my shirt pocket. By the time I’d whisked it from the fabric, it was already vibrating with Sam’s incoming call.
“What’s the problem, Sam?” My gaze lowered to the blonde between my thighs, and edging my executive chair back a few inches, I took in her red face and swollen eyes. “I’m busy.”
I remembered how attractive she’d been when Eddie had dragged her into his office, but the haunted eyes blinking up at me now revealed only the shell of the woman she had been. Fortunately, I’d never been burdened with much of a conscience. The state of the woman’s make-up was not my problem. Once I was finished with her, she’d be hit with a gagging order, along with a number of photographs that would disclose her in various compromising positions. I was sure she’d cooperate and vanish into the ether without a trace.
They always do.
“Emelia’s pregnant.” Sam spat the words down the line.
“Well, congrats, old man!” I realized Sam’s marriage was far from perfect, but I might have expected him to be a little more enthused at the prospect of fatherhood. God knew I’d feigned my enthusiasm well enough when my new bride, Susan, had delivered our so-called ‘good news’. “I’ll send a magnum of champers your way and—”
“I don’t want your champagne.” Sam’s disdain echoed through the phone.
“Well, what then?” Fisting the woman’s hair, I directed her lipstick-smudged lips toward the organ still requiring her attention. I’d given her sufficient respite and expected her end of the bargain to be met to my satisfaction. She whimpered, trying in vain to pull away as my cock throbbed with urgent anticipation.
“I don’t know if the baby’s mine,” Sam hissed. “After what happened, it could be anyone’s.”
My memory flitted back to the night I’d had the pleasure of getting to know Sam’s lady, Emelia. If truth be told, the mouse-like woman wasn’t really my type. I preferred them to have a little fight in them where sex was concerned, or, if a longer-term arrangement needed to be made, to be more demure, like my lovely Susan. Emelia, though, had played the temptress well enough on the evening Sam had hauled her backside in to meet me.
“As I recall, it was only you and I who had her.” I pushed at the back of the blonde’s head, reveling in the heat of the back of her throat. I wondered in passing if Sam would realize what I was doing while we spoke, but then I remembered I didn’t care. “So, there’s a fifty percent chance it’s yours.”
“Great.” Sam sounded unimpressed at my verdict.
“What did you expect?” Snorting, I held the blonde in place as my passion burgeoned. “You should have put her on the pill.”
“It’s too late now,” Sam growled.
“So, get rid of it.” I glanced down at what was going on between my legs, temporarily transfixed by the ballooning pleasure. Considering how long the blonde had been on her knees and that her wrists were bound behind her back, she was doing a decent job. It wouldn’t be long before Sam’s baby woes were the last thing on my mind. “If you don’t want the kid, you know what to do.”
“Yeah.” Sam’s tone was pensive. “I thought about that, but then I thought, if she has a kid, I can use it to keep the bitch exactly where I want her.” The shrewd knowing spiked in Sam’s tone was the epitome of the man I’d come to know.
“There you go!” My hips rose as my crescendo beckoned, and based on its looming power, it was going to be a big one. “Good thinking! Who cares if it’s yours or mine? I don’t want anything to do with an illegitimate child, so I won’t challenge you for paternity, and based on what you’ve told me, poor little Emelia doesn’t remember much about the night we all shared.”
No doubt that was something to do with the large number of tranquilizers she’d been given. I was surprised she remembered her own name after the ill-advised dose.
“That’s right,” came Sam’s reply. “She doesn’t recall anything so far and that’s the way I like it. I brought her to you as a favor, but I don’t need constant reminders that she’s had your cock.”
“Excellent.” I couldn’t decide if I was praising Emelia’s amnesia or the blonde’s persistence. “There’s your answer, then. She pops out the kid and you use it to your advantage. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the payments I send cover any additional costs. All you do is raise the kid.”
I’d send the money without qualms. Cash was no issue, after all. I regularly used it to push potential problems away, and that was the deal Sam and I had struck. The whingy bastard was already a regular recipient of my payments. The money ensured Sam kept his mouth shut about the numerous dubious deals I was involved in and guaranteed his unyielding commitment to the political cause.
I would run for PM and Sam would round up his less-sophisticated pals and take care of anyone who offered serious competition. It was a system that had worked well since university, and I would gladly increase the monthly amounts to reflect the new baby. Frankly, I’d have done anything to get Sam off the phone and finally be able to relish the feel of the back of the blonde’s hot throat.
“Fine.” Sam’s reply was a long sigh. “Emelia can have the kid. It might give her something to focus on when I’m not ordering her around.”
I smirked at Sam’s reaction. Or more like, it will give her a reason to stay.
I’d seen the disinterested expression on Emelia’s face before our liaison. Sure, she’d been in love with Sam once, but I didn’t have to be a psychologist to see that emotion had waned. Based on what I’d witnessed, Emelia could hardly stand being around him. It was only her seemingly perpetual need to please that kept her running in circles for Sam.
“Glad I could help.” My breath caught as the blonde swallowed me over and over. “Anything else because I’m kinda busy here?”
“Another whore?” Sam’s tone was suddenly dry, as though he could see what was transpiring below my desk.
“Right.” My eyes fluttered closed as my peak approached, my jaw tight as I hissed the answer. “There’s never a shortage of those.”