Chapter 8
The distance between us had become an abyss.
I turned myself into a machine.
My dresses grew darker, more conservative, as if the fabric could contain what burned inside. Block heels, minimal makeup, a flawless bun. I made sure to reinforce the image I’d always cultivated: efficient, cold, untouchable.
And Fernando noticed.
He didn’t say anything, but his eyes said it all. The way he watched me during meetings, how he waited for me to challenge him with some sharp remark and grew frustrated when I just nodded—impersonal, lifeless.
I was punishing myself.
And, deep down, punishing him too.
His response came through politics. An official statement. The first time in years he’d spoken publicly about Rita and Lucca’s deaths.
The silence in the Palace was absolute when he stepped up to the podium.
The cameras were live. The press waited, hungry for the story.
“Almost three years ago, I lost the woman I loved and the son who was my life. I lost my family. And I lost part of myself too.”
The air seemed to vanish from the room.
“The pain of a loss like that doesn’t disappear. It transforms. And in my case, it transformed into responsibility. I’m governor of this state because I believe I can make a difference. That I can keep other families from feeling this same pain.”
He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering.
“I know politics is full of uncertainties. I know there are doubts, speculation, and that the people’s trust must be earned every day.
That’s why I’m reaffirming my commitment to transparency.
Any citizen can access the transparency portal and verify projects, salaries, contracts.
There’s nothing to hide. There’s nothing to fear. ”
His words cut like a blade through the fake news that tried to tie him to corruption, to the lies about Rita’s death.
Fernando had always commanded a room. But there, in that moment, he was more than that. He was a man who carried the weight of his past and turned it into strength.
And I couldn’t look away.
The trip happened two days later.
A political event in another city, formal dinners, endless meetings. We’d spend three days there. Three days pretending we were nothing more than governor and secretary.
But on the first day, the universe seemed determined to test us.
The hotel was luxurious, of course. Chandeliers lit the lobby, the marble floor reflecting our hurried steps as the organizing team greeted us.
“Tomorrow’s schedule starts early,” I said, keeping my voice professional. “You have a panel at nine, then meetings with investors from the education sector.”
He nodded, tossing his jacket over the armchair as soon as we entered his suite. I followed him in to hand over the folder with his speeches and briefing notes.
Fernando loosened his tie, watching me.
“Thank you, Glória. You can get some rest.”
I nodded, already turning to leave.
“Glória.”
I stopped.
“You don’t have to pretend nothing happened.”
I took a deep breath.
“I’m not pretending. I’m working.”
He laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“You think I don’t notice? That I don’t see how you’ve changed, how you pull away from me even when we’re in the same room?”
“Fernando…”
“Look at me.”
I looked.
And there it was again.
The pain. The longing. The desire.
I should have left.
But I didn’t.
Insomnia came like a punishment.
I tossed and turned in bed, but my mind wouldn’t shut off. The silence of the room seemed to scream. I got up, irritated, heading out to find some tea or anything that might help me sleep.
And that’s how our paths crossed.
Fernando was in the hallway, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a t-shirt.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice was low.
I shook my head.
“Me neither.”
The hallway was lit by a dim glow, casting shadows that stretched our silhouettes.
No one was awake.
No one to stop us.
I knew what was about to happen.
And this time, I didn’t fight it.
He took my hand.
I followed him into the room.
And desire exploded.
The tension we’d held for days, weeks, months, broke like a dam.
The kiss came urgent, hungry, our lips colliding with silent desperation, but soon he slowed, deepening it, his tongue dancing with mine in a slow, heated rhythm that made me tremble.
Every touch, every muffled sigh, every shiver down my spine screamed that there was no turning back.
He pressed me against the bedroom wall, his strong, hot body flush against mine, his warmth radiating through the dress shirt I wanted to rip off—but couldn't, not here.
We were in the presidential suite, the pulsing heart of one of the most influential cities in the election, and silence was our only protection.
His hands came up to my face, fingers firm as they traced my jawline, sliding down my neck, gripping my waist before pulling me harder against him, the hard bulge in his pants brushing my thigh.
“I tried…” he whispered, his voice low, almost a growl, warm lips grazing the sensitive skin below my ear. “But I can't stay away from you.”
I didn't answer with words. My hand found the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his short hair, pulling him closer, the kiss muffling any sound that could betray us.
The danger of being caught hung in the air, every creak of the wooden floorboards, every distant footstep in the suite's hallway making my heart race.
But that only made everything more intense, more urgent.
He slid a hand under my skirt, trailing slowly up my thigh, his fingers finding the edge of my panties and pushing them aside, the touch light but deliberate, making me bite my lip to keep from moaning.
My body was ready, wet, begging for him.
I opened his belt with trembling fingers, the clink of metal almost too loud in the silence, and he helped me, lowering his pants just enough to free his cock—hard, hot, throbbing against my hand.
He lifted me easily, hands firm under my thighs, pinning me against the wall, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my skirt riding up as he positioned himself.
When he entered me, it was slow, controlled, his thick cock stretching me inch by inch, and I buried my face in his shoulder, muffling the moan that almost escaped.
He began to move, silent but fierce, each thrust deep, the muscles in his back flexing under my hands as I clung to him.
The only sound was our heavy breathing, his lips grazing my neck, his teeth nipping gently so he wouldn't leave marks.
I felt all of him—the heat, the strength, the way he filled me completely, dominating me without making a sound.
The pleasure built fast, a quiet fire spreading through my body, and I tightened my thighs against him, matching his rhythm, his hips hitting mine with a precision that pushed me to the edge.
He slid a hand between us, his thumb finding my clit, rubbing slow, firm circles, and I had to bite my own fist to keep from screaming.
The orgasm came like a muffled wave, making me tremble against him, my walls squeezing his cock as I came, the pleasure tearing through me in silence.
I felt his body tense, and he sped up just enough to chase his own release, his movements short and intense, until he came inside me with a hoarse sigh against my ear, his warmth filling me as he held my trembling body.
We stayed there, pressed together, panting, the silence of the presidential suite enveloping us again, the danger still pulsing in the air.