Chapter 11 #3
We entered the building, hand-in-hand. The coolness sheeted my skin with small bumps. Still, Ishmael kept me warm. His temperature was spiked. His hormones were raging. He had been satisfied, yet he still craved more of me. I, too, needed more of him.
“My dress–” I lied.
“What about it?”
“Come here.”
I broke our stride to travel in the direction opposite of the dinner party.
Ishmael’s mind was elsewhere. He wasn’t focused.
Every appearance mattered. His head needed to be in the game whenever he was in the public eye.
This was our first appearance as a couple.
The last thing I needed was my pussy on his mind when the entire room was waiting on him to slip.
“I need you to help me.”
I jiggled the door of the first handle I stumbled upon. It was locked. I jiggled the second handle. It, too, was locked. The third door pushed open, allowing both Ishmael and I inside.
“Royce, wha–”
I turned around and unfastened his suit jacket. I slid it from his shoulders and placed it on the chair behind the desk.
“You hired me for a job that I intend to do well, no matter what we are truly getting ourselves into behind closed doors. You’re sexually frustrated, Ishmael.
Not because you’ve been deprived, but because getting your dick sucked only made you want to slide into me even more than you already did before you left your home this morning, while you were at work all day, once you got off, and in the back of the car.
Your wish is my command, Ish,” I explained, calling him by the name I’d heard his brother utilize.
I shoved his pants down his legs and placed my palms on the desk. With ease, I lifted the bottom of my dress and slid out of my thong. Ishmael was silent, allowing me to vent. Allowing me to give clear instructions so that my job was done well.
“I need your eyes on the prize at all times. Tonight, that’s not me. It’s Berkeley City’s Mayor. I need you sharp and prepared for anything that comes your way. You can’t do that with a soft spine and weak knees.”
I shoved my panties in his mouth, wadding them until I was certain he wouldn’t be heard beyond the walls around us because the walls around him were about to close.
He pushed my body against the desk, holding me by the neck. My desk met the cool surface. They hardened on contact.
He tapped his hard dick against my slit. Up and down, he rubbed it, lubricating his shaft. And, without warning, he entered me.
“Uhhhhhh–” I moaned, quickly regretting it.
Ishmael’s grip tightened, demanding I quiet down.
I stretched my arms across the desk as he stretched my pussy across his dick. On the tips of my toes, I slid my body backward, meeting Ishmael’s stroke.
He groaned against the fabric of my panties, reigniting the fire within me. I slid back and forth with ease. My rhythm was in line with his. He refused to have it any other way. He refused to release control. He refused to give me exactly what I was after.
Instead, his pelvic area collided with my backside.
Over.
And over.
And over.
And over.
And over.
“Ishma– uhhhh. Ishhhhhhmael,” I begged for consideration.
Whap.
Whap.
Whap.
Whap.
He gave me none. He was relentless with his strokes. My wetness coated us both.
“Plea— uhhh.”
He removed the panties from his mouth, never halting his movements or changing his rhythm.
“Shut the fuck up, Royce.”
He leaned forward, lifting my right leg. My calf laid against his shoulder, spreading my body wide. He managed to touch my soul from my pussy’s portal. I gripped his arm, trying my hardest to keep from tumbling over.
Ishmael’s hand was no longer at the back of my neck. It was at the front, squeezing me as I squeezed around him.
“Open your mouth,” he demanded.
His words were loaded with tension. I listened. My lips parted and my mouth fell agape.
Huwk.
Spuh.
My eyes closed from the impact of the wind. My body curled toward his. The first wave hit my feminine parts as his spit settled on my tongue. I swallowed.
Hard.
Deep.
Hungrily.
“Again,” I begged, mouth wide.
My thirst was beyond my control.
Huwk.
Spuh.
Ishmael’s particles slid down my throat as he pulled my face toward him. He buried his tongue in my mouth. I bit down. The intensity of my orgasm was too much to bear alone. I needed somewhere soft to land. There was no better place than him at the moment.
“Mmmmmmm. Yesssss,” I murmured. “Yessss.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
I sat across the table from the sexiest man in the room. His eyes were low. His gaze was fixed. His intoxication was evident, but it had little to do with the water he was sipping.
His inhibition was solely due to my influence. My presence. My pussy. My lips and the way they curled around his dick. My mouth and the way it juggled his balls. My warmth and the way it coated him like a blanket in the dead of the winter.
The room blurred around us. It was soundless. I saw nothing but Ishmael. I heard nothing but Ishmael and the beat of my heart. It reminded me that I was still alive. Still well. Still able.
What’s the matter? I mouthed.
He tilted his head. I waited with baited breath, hoping he responded. After his shoulders fell flat and his elbows touched the table, displaying his defeat, he made a confession.
I think I’m in love.
I placed a hand over my mouth to conceal my happiness.
You too?
I nodded, sliding my hand down.
Yes. Me, too.
He tipped his head toward the door. I shook my head.
Twenty more minutes.
He frowned, hating that I took my role so seriously. However, we had an election to win. Everything else could wait.
Please.
His eyes were wide with despair. He didn’t care to be here. Ishmael wanted to be alone.
Ten more minutes.
“And, that’s all thanks to our next mayor, Mr. Grayson.
He’s been such a beacon for change in our communities in recent years.
He’s given back to the same communities that raised him to be the man he is today.
If there’s nothing else I know about this man, it’s that he is for the people of Berkeley.
Especially the children, because he understands they are our future. ”
The spotlight shined on Ishmael. He fixed his face, forging a smile. My hands collided, beginning the round of applause he deserved. After a few seconds, he stood, waving his hand around.
“Thank you,” he exclaimed. “Thank you.”
Though he didn’t have a microphone in front of him, everyone knew exactly what he was saying.
“When you visit those polls in November, don’t forget to vote Grayson. He’s not what Berkeley wants. He’s what Berkeley needs.”
The spotlight returned to the stage where Velma, the event coordinator and director of The Berkeley City Community Foundation, also known as TBCCF, continued her speech.
The fundraiser had pulled in well over a hundred thousand thousand dollars.
Each plate was eight hundred and eighty-eight dollars.
There were enough people in the venue to cover one hundred and fifty plates at minimum. It was a great start.
Donations were being taken as well. Ishmael had made a generous donation himself. His love for Berkeley had no limits. He wanted to see the city thrive and the children grow to be responsible, considerate adults.
“Grayson Cares.” I leaned over, whispering.
“Hm?”
“Grayson Cares. It has a ring to it. I’m going to start the paperwork for a non-profit.”
“Does your mind ever stop working?”
“No. October is coming. It’s breast cancer awareness month. You’ve expressed your concerns for people policing the female body. I think that’s right on target for an early detection campaign. In addition, we should start a clothing drive for the children who have been affected by breast cancer.
“When cancer happens, it doesn’t just affect the person who is experiencing its symptoms. It changes everyone around them. Children feel it the most when it’s a parent or grandparent. Let’s not forget those little ones.”
Ishmael nodded.
“You, my baby, have a good head on your shoulders.”
The grin on his face said more than he was willing to. My trailblazing thoughts weren’t the only thing he was referring to.
“Can we leave now?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Ishmael was up in a flash. He took me by the hand and began the usher wave as we made our way through the dimly lit room. If he wasn’t waving, he was shaking a hand. If he wasn’t shaking a hand, he was accepting a hug.
It had taken us eight minutes to get from our seats to the backseat of the Phantom. Ishmael’s exhaustion weighed him down. His head rested on my shoulder. I ran my fingertips up and down the side of his face.
His head grew heavier as we entered the freeway. His breathing slowed once we were at a pleasant speed.
My baby. I laid my head against the window, admiring the man before me.
He was no soldier at the moment. He was a vulnerable boy with an expanding heart. So much was changing for him. So much of his world was evolving.
I wasn’t sure if Ishmael understood yet, but he was safe with me. He would always be safe with me.