The World: According to Graham (31 page)

“Quit looking at me like that!” she squeals as she backs away from me.

I move towards her, stalking her as if she’s my prey. “How am I looking at you, Rachael?”

Her back hits the wall of our bedroom. “Like a man with one thing on his mind, and it’s not rubbing shoulders with the who’s who of the political and entertainment worlds.”

I reach down and fist my very hard cock through my tuxedo pants. Her eyes follow my hand, and a small puff of air blows out of her lips when she sees what I’m holding. Her mouth forms a tiny circle, and I know that she’s mine.

Her robe falls to the ground, and she stands in front of me in her blue thong panties and nothing else. Her hair is over both shoulders, veiling her breasts, with just a hint of nipple poking through. And I know right now, in this moment, that if I’m not inside of her in about thirty seconds, I’m going to embarrass myself.

“Touch yourself,” I order, as I begin removing my slacks.

Her hand brushes over her stomach as her fingers make their way down to her bare slit.

“Tell me how wet you are, Rachael.” My fingers vibrate with such anticipation that I’m not sure I can unbutton my shirt.

Her head drops back against the wall, and she lets out a soft moan. “I’ve been slick for you since I saw you in your tux.” Her teeth tug at her bottom lip. “You, Graham, you are all I need. All I want.”

I kick my discarded monkey suit to the side and press my body against hers, rubbing my leaking erection against her stomach. Grabbing her hands, I pin them above her head as I stare down into the green orbs that strip my soul. “Forever, Rachael. Whenever and wherever,” I demand from her in my strong, dominant voice that she loves.

Her knees buckle and I have to drop one of her hands to hold her up. Her pelvis rubs against my thigh as I press my weeping dick against her creamy skin. “Forever. Yes . . . always whenever and wherever,” she confirms.

And I lose it. Thoughts of slowly consummating our marriage go out the window. Before I know it, I have her bent over the arm of the sofa and I’m balls’ deep inside of her. It’s like so many times before. The more compliant she is, the more savage I become. Grabbing her hips, I slam into her over and over again. Her whimpers of pleasure drive me mad.

“Play with your tits and tell me how good they feel,” I order.

I can tell when her fingers begin to tweak her nipples, because she clinches tightly around my cock. I almost lose it, but I’m not letting this end—ever.

“Tell me, Rachael,” I grind out between punishing drives.

“They’re . . . they’re . . . so tender,” she whispers. “And heavy.”

I look around her and see in the soft glow from a lamp her breasts shaking back and forth as she pinches her nipples. It’s so fucking hot.

Without separating us, I pick her up and carry her to the couch. I sit down with her back to my front. Her moans at the change of our angle drive me mad.

I replace her hands with mine. “These are mine to play with now. Use me. Make yourself come on my hard dick.”

She straddles me, sitting back on her heels. I’m so deep inside of her that this must be what heaven feels like. Slumping a little more into the couch, I adjust so I have better access to her clit. As she begins to rise and fall on my throbbing cock, I massage one breast, ignoring her hard nipples, while I massage her nub.

Her moans of pleasure fill our honeymoon suite and make me crazy. Pleasuring her is my life’s desire. “Touch my nipples,” she says through a strangled voice.

Her back is arched beautifully, and her hair is sweeping back and forth along the small of it as she rises and falls.

“No,” I reply, as I give her right breast a twist.

“Please, Graham. Pinch my nipples, please,” she begs, as her voice becomes more strained.

I know that she’s close. Her wetness is covering my thighs. “No, Rachael. You don’t get to decide what I do with your body. Only I do.”

I drop one of her breasts and swat her rounded ass with my hand, leaving a light pink mark.

“Again,” she begs. “While you pinch my nipple.”

I take her eraser-long nipple between my thumb and finger and apply intense pressure. She cries out and begins a wild dance on my cock. I spank the tops of her ass cheeks while she explodes in a body-trembling orgasm. I hold her, keeping her upright until her body becomes pliable in my arms.

Laying her on the sofa, I enter her again, needing my release. She looks like an angel—hair splayed out around her, a content look on her face. My heart catches in my throat.
Oh my God! This is my wife, and I can do this to her for the rest of my life.

I pull out, and use my hand to jerk off all over her stomach. I mark her with my seed that made this day, this moment, possible.

“Where have you two been all of this time?” my sister asks as Rachael and I join dinner, which is almost over. Erin was nice enough to have two plates left in the warming tray for us.

“Feeding my baby and fucking my wife,” I swear. It never gets old. Shocking my older sister is one of my favorite hobbies.

Her face drops in horror, and she leans in so no one can hear. “It’s your wedding day. Have some manners.”

Fortunately, Rachael missed this exchange, or she would probably have my balls in a jar.

Rachael leans across me and gives my sister a polite hug. “Hi Kelly. It’s so nice to see you again.”

It’s not lost on me that I married a woman who is the same age as my much older sister. Ha!

“Hunter was so good during the ceremony. What an angel.” My sister directs the compliment to only Rachael while she shoots me a dirty look.

“Thank you.” Rachael beams. “He really is such a good baby. Graham and I are beyond blessed to be his parents.”

My niece, who has entered the snotty, I’m-a-teenager-now phase of her life is playing on her new phone that I bought her for Christmas. “Are you going to dance with your favorite uncle?”

She rolls her eyes and says, “You’ll just step all over my toes.”

Rachael laughs and replies smugly, “I happen to know that he’s a phenomenal dancer. Makes even the worst dancer look like a star.”

My plate is almost empty, and Rachael’s has been barely touched. I lean over and whisper in her ear, “Eat. You’ll need your strength tonight.”

She smirks and takes a bite of her lobster.

My mother pipes up, and says, “Darling, it’s such a shame that your parents couldn’t make it today. I’ve heard that hip replacement surgery has a very difficult recovery.”

I head this nonsense off at the pass. Rachael’s parents were not invited to the wedding. Two weeks after Rachael joined the tour, we were in Houston. It was a great homecoming. She’d been finally introduced to my family as my girlfriend, and they’d gushed over her more than me. They’d treated Rachael as if she were their own daughter. I couldn’t have loved them more.

Her parents, on the other hand, had penciled us in for an hour-long dinner at a restaurant near their office. They’d barely acknowledged my presence and spent the entire meal chastising Rachael for embarrassing them by not letting them know that she was resigning from her post at the White House. It had been uncomfortable and awkward, and I left very pissed off.

Instead of joining me in bashing her cold family, Rachael had apologized for their rudeness while her shoulders were hunched over, and she’d stared at the floorboard of the truck. That was when I’d given her permission to never ever let someone treat her that way.

She’d looked up and smiled at me. “I’m almost forty and they’ve been like this my whole life. How much more do I have to put up with?”

I’d replied, “No more, my gorgeous girl.”

That was the last time we spoke to her parents. I honestly think her father’s hip replacement surgery was scheduled around our wedding as their way of saving face.

“Honeymoon?” my sister asks.

Rachael laughs into her napkin. “Our honeymoon is staying home. Isn’t that awful? We’ve been gone nonstop, living in a travel trailer with a new baby. We just want to introduce him to his beautiful bedroom and lay on the couch and watch TV.”

Kelly nods.

“I mean I want to use my gorgeous office and closet that Graham set up for me, what . . .” She looks at me, and we both do the math in our heads. “I guess that it has been over a year and half ago.”

I lean over and kiss her cheek. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

We give each other a knowing look. This journey could not be described as fun. Gut-wrenching, life-changing and epic are a few of the words that pop in my head, but we’ve walked hand in hand from the moment that we agreed to step foot in The Cougar.

Erin bends down between us and says that it’s time to cut the cake. I tell her that we’d rather have our first dance.

She shakes her head and walks off looking cross, but she heads for the band and lets them know that we’re ready.

Choosing our first song as a married couple was easy. It had to be “You Look Wonderful Tonight.” It’s the first song that we danced to, and God does Rachael ever look gorgeous this evening.

Her cream wedding dress skims her petite frame. The front is very modest, and it’s long-sleeved with a simple beaded pattern. The back—well, the back is damn near orgasmic. A deep
V
exposes her toned back, ending just below her ribs.

There are no secrets on tour, which is when this entire wedding was planned. The designer flew to some remote part of the country that the tour was in for the week and did a fitting. Because the universe loves me and Rachael doesn’t believe in superstitions, she asked for my opinion. Fortunately the designer gave us a few minutes alone so I could properly express it.

I stand up, offering her my hand. “Mrs. Jackson, care to dance?”

She grasps my fingers. “Thought you would never ask.”

I lead her to the middle of the dance floor and the band begins to play the opening notes of our song. She molds perfectly to my body as I lead us around the parquet floor. “I’m so glad that you found the time to marry me,” I whisper in her ear.

She giggles at my joke. We’ve been engaged for way more than a year, but with the tour schedule and our baby, planning a wedding was out of the question. Rachael stepped in to the role of CEO for the Sons or Liberty tour and had everyone whipped into shape in about a month. Slowly but surely, we began turning a profit, and when the tour ended a week ago we were financially successful enough that we were able to pay out bonuses to all the crew that had stood by us through the rocky road at the beginning.

Rachael made a lot of changes, but one of her boldest moves left us not speaking for two days. She fired our agent and convinced her ex-boyfriend to take us on as a client. Aiden. The man whose heart she broke, who is now married to her best friend’s little sister. He’s a nice enough guy, but I wasn’t crazy about having to work so closely with someone who had seen my girl naked. So far, I’ll give Rachael credit, it has been a good move. He was interested in branching out from just working with athletes, and he’s a super smart guy. He’s done well by us.

I drew the line at inviting him to the wedding. So, once again, we spent two days not talking, and now he and his lovely wife are sitting at a table with Caroline and Colin, laughing and enjoying the lobster that must be made of gold.

Aiden also found a loophole in the contract that we signed with Hank that let us fire him. We never recovered the stolen money, and we couldn’t prove that he was the one who stole it, but I’ve learned to make peace with the situation. It was essentially a fifty thousand–dollar lesson on why Rachael was needed so desperately.

With tour management off my list of duties, I was able to focus on what I do best, and that’s being the front man for the Sons of Liberty. The public responded, and the radio show is pulling in good numbers. I will say that I miss the tour and interacting with the crowds, but I’m looking forward to ditching The Cougar and sleeping in our bed again. What Rachael doesn’t know is that The Cougar has one more trip in her.

“Did you see that Holden brought Aubrey as his date?” Rachael asks, as I spin her around. Holden is the first candidate that the Sons of Liberty have chosen to back. His girlfriend is presenting a bit of a problem. Tonight is his coming-out party, of sorts. Rachael and I, via the Sons of Liberty’s support, are introducing him to the who’s who of Washington politics.

“I thought you addressed that little issue. I mean, the guy is not stupid. Sister fuckers don’t get elected to Congress.”

She pulls away to arm’s length so she can properly chastise me without drawing attention. I can read her like a book. “Quit calling him a . . .” I spin her around so she has to shut up for a second. Of course, she can’t be distracted. “She’s the step-sister, and they didn’t become family until just recently.”

I tuck her back against me as the song comes to an end. Before we part, I remind her that this is the first candidate that the Sons of Liberty have plucked from obscurity and are backing with our support and dollars. It has to go well.

She smiles sweetly as she reaches up, straightening my tie. “There’s a reason why this wedding and reception is a tax write-off.”

And with that, Former President Jones asks her for a dance. She graciously accepts and leaves me standing in the middle of the dance floor.

I turn and walk over to the table where Max, Marissa, Jake and his date, Veronica, are sitting, along with Holden and Aubrey. When Rachael and Erin worked on the seating chart for the reception, this was a strategic move on Rachael’s part. We have a current president and former president in attendance, along with numerous influential media personalities and huge players in Washington politics. This is Holden’s endorsement party as much as it is our wedding reception.

Rachael’s philosophy was that if she had to have a wedding—I insisted on it—that it might as well be one of the political events of the year. And that’s one of the many reasons that I love her.

I’m greeted with a round of fist bumps and high fives by my brothers. Holden stands and shakes my hand, offering me his congratulations. I lean over and give Aubrey a kiss on the cheek. She’s an absolutely stunning woman. I remember once seeing a story on the news about an artist who used Photoshop to create what the American female would look like, since we are a country with such diversity. The artist rendering looks very similar to her. She doesn’t have one characteristic that defines her race. That’s great for Holden’s campaign. I just wish they weren’t related by marriage and, well, that she didn’t work as a bartender in a strip club. Both are issues that we’re going to have to fix in the next six months.