Thief: A Bad Boy Romance (37 page)

It matters that I am now on
live fucking international television
with my stepbrother’s fingers sliding into my pussy.

“Good evening, America,” my mother says easily, as if addressing a
nation
on television is the most effortless thing in the world. As if looking into a camera beaming her face to
hundreds
of millions of people is so
carefree.

Let me tell you, the perspective is slightly different from where I sit, with Hunter’s finger slowly driving me mad under the table.

I want to push him away, or slap him, or even just
tell him
to quit it before we both get absolutely humiliated on national television, but I can’t. I can’t
hit
him on T.V., I can’t
say
anything to him while my mother is addressing the country.

I have to sit there and
smile
— “not too toothy” — and just be part of the perfect little all American family, — the
first
family — on that stage. I have to just
smile
benignly at the camera, while Hunter’s fingers slowly drive me absolutely wild.

“Tonight, I wanted to take a moment to share something very special with you all.”

My hands grip the edge of the table in front of us, my knuckles white as I force myself to keep breathing and not to let my eyes flutter shut as the pleasure rolls through me.

“When you voted me into this office, we made
history.
It’s because of
you
, America, that I’m here today breaking down every boundary this office still holds, in the name of equality, and in the spirit of pushing this great country into the future.”

My breath catches in my throat and my heart threatens to pound right through my chest as Hunter lets his thumb circle around and around my clit. He’s just sitting there quietly, a small little smile on his face. Looking to all the world like the perfect little soldier; the charming young man stepping into his new role.

“You put your trust in me, America, and so today, I’d like to do the same with you as I announce one more historic breakthrough for this Presidency.”

And suddenly, the horrible realization hits me that he’s not going to stop. Suddenly, I realize this doesn’t end with him teasing me to a point and then stopping.

This ends with him making me come on
national fucking television
.

The shocking realization has me pushing a hand beneath the table, trying to pull his hand away, as incredible as he feels. He resists me though, and I clench my jaw tight as I
smile
into the camera while his thumb rolls
over
and
over
my clit.

“I’ve been keeping something under wraps that I’d love to share with you all tonight, because this is for everyone.”  She turns to Alec before looking back at the camera. “Major Alec Ryan, as you know, was one of biggest champions on the campaign path. He offered his help, his support, and his kindness when I needed it the most, and he has stepped graciously and without hesitation into his new role as my Secretary of State.”

She suddenly reaches over and entwines her fingers in Alec’s. “Tonight, I’d like to announce his move to fill a new role in my life.”

I’m so close
. It’s terrible, and awful, but I know the inevitable is going to happen no matter how hard I want to fight it. His fingers feel
too
damn good, stroking me in just the perfect place and rolling my clit over and over again until I think I might scream.

I’m going to come, and there’s no stopping it.

“Ladies and gentlemen—”

The room goes quiet.

Oh God, not now…don’t say it now.
Not when I’m about to come, on camera, in front of millions of people, with my stepbrother’s fingers deep inside of me.

Don’t say it, please don’t say it.

“I’m pleased to announce that Major Alec Ryan will now be taking a new position, as my husband.”

The room explodes into cheers and applause, and that’s the moment the bastard rolls his thumb over my clit
just
right, and I go crashing over the edge. The room goes nuts, and the cameras flash, and I’m
coming
on national — no,
international
— television. I’m holding onto the table for dear life, my mouth hangs open, and I fight not to squeeze my eyes shut as I come in front whole fucking word, at the hands of Hunter Ryan.

My brand new, arrogant, sexy, untouchable
stepbrother
.

J
ust like that
, everything changes. Just like that, I go from being the unassuming guy with an earpiece in the background to the guy with the President’s hand around his shoulder while we pose for pictures; the guy with the spotlight
squarely
on him. One freaking press conference, and my entire life as I know it just
changes.

I’m off the Service that night.
That’s
how quickly things move after the announcement. That very night, I’m debriefed by the director, and with Eleanor and my dad present, I’m given an award commending me for my service to my country and the office.

As if I’ve done
anything
to deserve it. The job is the sword and shield of the Presidential office. There are guys that take bullets, or dive on grenades for this job and for the office it protects. Me? I fooled around with my fucking stepsister basically the whole time I was on duty. Draw my gun? Yeah, all I did was take my dick out.

Sean and Darren start texting and calling me to give me shit about keeping them in the dark almost the second I leave the stage, but I know they get it. At least, I hope they do. When it all changes, I’m suddenly tossed into the same maddening, cage-like existence that Maddie’s been in since day one, and I have to say, it gives me a little perspective being there with her.

No more personal phone, no more moving freely about, and no more shooting pool or pounding beers with my buddies down at the bar.

Because everything’s changed now.

On the upside, I
do
get to move rooms to Presidential suites after that. Hilariously, I get moved literally across the hall from the Maddie’s Lincoln Bedroom suite, but if I initially have any ideas about how much fun
that’s
going to be, they’re quickly dashed away in the madness of the next week.

Because madness is what it is, and leaving the Service and having my phone taken away is the
least
of it.

I give press interviews, I’m quoted in newspapers, and I start shaking hands with Senators and lobbyists for photo ops. My war record is suddenly
literally
front page news, even though I’m no different than any of the other thousands of Marines who went to fight for our country over there. But suddenly
I’m
special, all because of who my father is marrying.

Unfair doesn’t seem to cover it.

I’m on CNN, smiling at the cameras and talking from the script about what a great mom-figure Eleanor is, and how awesome it’s going to be to be a family again. And it’s not that the words are bullshit or anything — she
really
is great, and I’m glad for her and for my dad — but it’s the principle of it that grates on me. It’s the fact that I’ve got to sit there and parrot someone else’s scripted, packaged, pasteurized and sanitized words that gets my blood boiling.

And so it goes like that for a week; a blur of days where I’m crashing into bed every night wondering if I’m ever going to actually
see
Maddie again now that we’re family.

* * *

“
M
r. Ryan
! Mr. Ryan!” The White House press secretary nods at the man in the third row waving his pen in the air. This is the fourth one of these fucking things I’ve done in as many days, and I’d like to think I’m getting to be pretty good at them. Still, having Irving there is a Goddamn life-saver.

Not to mention, the fact that Maddie’s hanging out just off-stage after finishing her own press Q&A. It’s a nice little addition, considering I’ve barely gotten a chance to say
hi
to her over the last few days with the way things have been.

Of course, not getting a chance to say “hi” to her isn’t what’s been keeping me up the last four nights in my room across from her. Not having a chance to “catch up” or “see how she’s doing” is
not
the reason I jerked off twice last night before I could fall asleep.

It’s being this close to her and having
less
of a
chance at getting into those panties of hers. It has me on edge. Yet, despite the cameras and the madness around us right now, it
is
nice to just be near her for the first time in days.

“Uh, yes?” I squint through the flashbulbs as the man with the waving pen stands.

“Mr. Ryan, how do feel your new circumstances affect your engagement to Ms. Carle?”

It’s like a slug to the gut and I feel the wind knock right out of me.

Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

Ms. Carle, otherwise known as Anya.

Otherwise known as my psycho ex-girlfriend, who’s apparently decided to outdo herself with her gold-digging, social-climbing, manipulative
bullshit
.

I start to open my mouth and say something that will probably make Irving cringe, when something out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. I turn,
just
in time to see Maddie shoot this
look
— eyes narrowed, her mouth pursed shut — before she whirls and marches away.

Fuck
.

I want to chase her. I want to run right after her, grab her by the arm, spin her around, and tell her it’s all bullshit. Except I know I can’t do that, even if I feel my whole body tense telling me to.

Yeah, I can just imagine that headline:
New First Son Chases After His Stepsister After She Runs Off In An Obviously Jealous Rage Over Remarks About His Ex-Girlfriend

Okay, I supposed there’s a reason I’m not in publishing, but still, I’m pretty sure every cameraman and interviewer in this room could draw their own conclusions from that.

Instead, my knuckles go white as I grip the podium and turn back to the man, wishing death and destruction on him as I smile thinly. “I’m currently unaware of any such rumors about any type of relationship between me and Ms. Carle, Mister…?”

“Leland, with the Weekend Post, and Mr. Ryan, I’m not going off rumors, I’m going off the statement Ms. Carle herself made just twenty minutes ago.”

I almost want to be impressed with Anya’s tenacity to pull something like this, especially since last I heard she was off in Europe somewhere involved with a Grand Prix racer or something.

Amazing how fast she managed to get back to D.C. and cook up a nice big pot of bullshit for a shot at some camera time.

“Well, then Ms. Carle is mistaken.”

“Would you call this a lover’s quarrel, Mr. Ryan?” Another reporter stands and quickly blurts out.

“I’d call it bullshit, actually,” I say with a smile, as Irving cringes beside me and a titter runs through the crowd of journalists. “Anyways, I think we’re done here.”

I’m already marching offstage, my eyes searching the backstage area for Maddie as I hear Irving take over and step up to stem the rushing flood of questions that pour after me.

Yeah, I’m going to get an earful for this one.

* * *

I
t’s
Maddie that bumps into me, actually, about five minutes later as I round a quiet corner of the West Wing looking for her. She gasps as she crashes into me, her hands going to my chest before she scowls up and pushes me away.

“
Fiancé?!
” She hisses, her cheeks pink and her eyes wild and accusatory as she glares at me.

I roll my eyes. “What do
you
think?”

“I think you’re a dog and a manwhore, and that I have
zero
interest in being part of your stable of booty calls,
actually
.”

“Stable of booty calls?” I grin at her.

“Oh fuck off, you know what I mean.”

“Will you relax? At what point when I was around you something like eighteen hours a day when I was still your detail did you get the impression I had time for anyone else?”

“Someone like your
ex
or
fiancé,
or whatever the fuck she is?” she says heatedly, her hands balling into fists at her sides, her pouty pink lips pursing together.

I smirk at her. “You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re jealous.”

She barks out a cold laugh. “You
wish
I was.”

“And what would you call this little display then?”

She narrows her seething eyes at me. “I’d call it being pissed at being played into being your little
side
dish.”

“Where do you
get
these terms, by the way?”

Maddie groans, exasperated, and goes to push past me, but I grab her by the wrists and yank her against me.

“You’re not my
side
anything, doll. Anya’s full of shit, she’s like that.”

“Yeah I’ll have to take that into serious consideration,” she says angrily, fighting my grip on her wrists.

I don’t let go.

“Maddie, I’m telling the truth and you know it, despite this little jealousy act.”

“I am
not
jealous!”

“Bullshit,” I growl, pulling her close. It’s been
days
since I had her this close. Days since my fingers were inside her slick pussy making her come, and days of me dreaming about it every single moment — waking and sleeping.

Damn,
she feels
good
pressed against me like this. The scent of her hair teases me, and the heat from her body seeping through my shirt has me gritting my teeth and suppressing the growl in my throat.

Her pink lips are still pursed together like she’s angry at me, but if she’s trying to get me to fuck off with that look, it
ain’t
working. Those lips are just a fucking temptation, even — shit,
especially
— when they’re pursed together and looking pissy like that. Those lips are like a
challenge
to me, and I want to take them. I want to claim her mouth with my own and feel those lips
yield
to me.

I suddenly imagine her lips slowly parting as she looks up at me, and picture the softly pouty wetness of them sliding over the head of my cock while she’s there on her knees.

Fuck
. I haven’t been this close to her in days, and now it’s like a hit of drug crashing through my system all at once. It’s four days of pent-up denial in the face of temptation hitting me full in the face.

“Let go of me,” she says softly, and I blink back to the present as I stare into those wild green eyes.