The Election (closed)

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Morgan Liu’s white gold wedding band tapped rhythmically against the side of his lowball glass, which was just under two fingers full with single malt scotch, the matching bottle of amber colored liquid sitting nearby. He had talked the bartender into leaving him unattended in the otherwise abandoned hotel bar; one of the perks of being the husband of the Democratic Party’s newly-announced vice presidential candidate, in the hotel where the national convention was being held.

Most of the attendees and guests were gathered at some after-party or another in the adjoining convention hall, but Morgan wasn’t in the mood for a party. Instead, he was nursing his drink alone while watching news coverage of the day’s events on the flat screen mounted above the bar, which was currently recapping snippets of the presidential nominee, Senator Kenneth Fairchild, accepting the party’s nomination. Morgan sipped at his drink and rolled his eyes, making little effort to contain his simmering anger.

Then the news coverage cut to the end of Fairchild’s speech, where he had lifted a page from Apple’s playbook and ended with “One more thing” -- the announcement of Congresswoman Denise Young, Morgan’s wife and Fairchild’s former opponent in the primary race -- as Fairchild’s running mate. A few clips of Denise joining Kenneth on the stage played on the screen, while the political pundits providing voiceover struggled to climb over one another to praise Fairchild for uniting the party by bringing a former opponent into the fold.

“Uniting, my ass,” Morgan grumbled, giving his drink a swirl before taking another sip. “It should’ve been you, Denise.”

Morgan’s displeasure with Kenneth probably wasn’t helped by the fact that his wife, Grace, had briefly dated Morgan in college, but this wasn’t a simple case of long-held jealousy.

Denise had been poised to take the lead in the primaries on Super Tuesday, polling with narrow leads in several key states. She was well-liked by the party base, and being a minority woman, was garnering strong support from crucial minority and female voters. But shortly before Super Tuesday, the Fairchild campaign had gone on the offensive, launching a blitz of advertising and media appearances focusing not on Denise, but on Morgan -- in particular, his voter registration, which identified him as a Libertarian. That alone was not particularly newsworthy; his political leanings had been well-known since early in Denise’s career when she was running for state office, and she had always been able to brush the issue aside by refocusing attention on her stances on the issues. But the Fairchild camp’s attacks had been particularly unrelenting, not only harping on Morgan’s political beliefs, but insinuating that Denise could not possibly advocate wholeheartedly for her beliefs and yet be married to someone who disagreed with them. The 24 hour news cycle pounced on the fake controversy immediately, with some of the most unscrupulous commentators even suggesting that because of the patriarchal traditions of Asian society -- Morgan was full-blooded Chinese and Denise half-Indian -- she would defer to him on matters of disagreement, and therefore was little more than a Libertarian plant. But what had really stung, at least for Morgan, was when Grace started making media appearances, echoing the Fairchild campaign’s attacks.

It was all bullshit, and at first Denise had attempted to deal with it as she always had, but the opinion polls showed her support eroding. Things had been tense both at home and in the campaign headquarters as she grappled with what to do. Her advisors pushed her to come out strong and actively denounce Morgan’s stances, reaffirming her commitment to the party platform. Morgan could tell that the politician in her agreed with them, and he had encouraged her to follow their advice; he, and their marriage, would weather the storm, he had promised. A statement was drafted for her to make at her next campaign rally, and as the night approached, Morgan had paced nervously backstage, waiting for the woman he loved to drag some of his most closely held beliefs through the wringer.

But then something unexpected happened.

Denise went off-script.

Instead of denouncing him, she looked her supporters square in the eyes and told them that whatever their beliefs, they were all on a journey together to help guide the country through its challenges and into the future. That as sure as she was in her convictions, who was she -- or anyone else, for that matter -- to say who was right and who was wrong? That the fact that she and Morgan could disagree on the big issues of the day and still build a loving, caring life together was what made the country worth fighting for.

As Denise’s supporters roared their approval, it had taken every ounce of restraint Morgan had not to walk on stage, sweep her into his arms, and kiss her. But then she did that for him, too, leading him on-stage by the hand and placing a kiss on his lips as the crowd looked on. And it wasn’t some fake peck on the lips; it was a passionate, open-mouthed kiss the likes of which were rarely seen in the American political theater. After the rally, Denise had given all of her staff the night off, all but dragging Morgan back to their suite at the hotel where they made love -- the kind of intense, impassioned sex that had been all too rare in their marriage ever since her career had skyrocketed and their daughter Kayla had been born six years prior.

At first, they had been hopeful that the tide had turned. Polls the next day showed that the drop-off in Denise’s support had halted, and she was even beginning to retake some of the ground that had been lost. But the damage that had been done by the Fairchild campaign was enough, and Morgan could do nothing over the following weeks but watch as Denise’s spirit fell a little with every state that Kenneth Fairchild managed to eke out.

They both took it hard when Fairchild clinched the nomination. Denise poured herself into her work, meeting day and night with her advisors to figure out what would become of her political career, while Morgan, blaming himself for her defeat, poured himself a drink… and another… and another. Whether through luck or skill, he managed to toe the line of descending into alcoholism, and thanks to his other outlet -- long sessions at the gym taking out his anger on a heavy bag -- he had become an extremely fit borderline alcoholic by the time he found out that Denise had been meeting in secret with Fairchild, being vetted to become his running mate.

“It should’ve been you,” he muttered again, muting the television feed.

He should have been happy for his wife. After all, she was elated to be back in the race, even as the VP candidate. If things went well, she would have her shot again in eight years. But he couldn’t shake the guilt of having cost her the nomination -- the chance to have her shot now, or his anger at the way that Fairchild had used him to snatch away Denise’s victory. And now he would have to deal with those people until November, and every day afterward for the next eight years.

Leaning forward to prop his arms up on the bar, he refilled his glass and gulped down another sip.

Grace descended the large, spiraling staircase from the large convention hall on the upper floor of the Grand Mariot. Her husband was continuing to speak with several different major campaign contributors. She had been by his side for the past four hours since he officially accepted the nomination, and her face was still a little sore from the wide variety of smiling expressions she had put on. She didn’t feel especially false about it; She was genuinely excited, and really did enjoy a lot of the congratulations. It reminded her of her wedding in a lot of ways, actually. She appreciated the attention, but by the end of the evening she felt like she needed to ice her teeth.

She had slipped away to see to their daughters, but the fact was they were pretty much fine. Quinn was about to turn fourteen, and was more than capable to making sure that Holly was fine. Frankly, spending a little time with the girls was as much about her as it was about them, she needed a few minutes to settle herself. Holly had really enjoyed coming out on stage and waving to everyone, while Quinn’s instagram account was apparently blowing up. Her daughter was already having to dial back on her social media presence and she was being a real trooper about it, so Grace was excited that she could have these little victories.

Once she had seen to the girls, she found herself with a little time to herself. Knowing how rare this was about to become, she decided to go for a little walk down through the hotel to see just what else was going on once she stepped away from the center of the tornado swirling around her husband.

She was intensely proud of him, and eager to step up and advocate for him to become the President. She had met him when he had been a professor of constitutional law, and he was easily one of the smartest men she had ever known. He was even tempered, pragmatic, compassionate… and easily one of the most persuasive people on the planet. She would know, she mused to herself, running her hand over the polished chestnut railing of the staircase. He was an outstanding senator; both in their home state of Connecticut and the U.S. Senate. He had gained a huge following when he drafted a widely successful education reform bill that benefitted from bipartisan support in both the Senate and the House. His name had been on almost every shortlist to run for president once the current administration’s term was over, and she felt like they had been preparing for this campaign forever.

The only real bump in the road had been Denise Young. Even if she hadn’t been her husband’s opponent, she would have found her intimidating; she was gorgeous, incredibly intelligent, and one of the most profoundly qualified candidates she had ever seen. It didn’t help that she just HAPPENED to be married to Morgan Liu, Grace’s old college sweetheart.

If she was being honest with herself, ‘sweetheart’ did a really poor job of describing them. They had dated for less than a year when she was an undergrad, and basically spent the better part of ten months learning new ways to make her orgasm. He was a nice guy, although confoundingly prone to arguing with her… but he was an absolute sexual dynamo. They ultimately broke up when she changed colleges, but she really doubted anything would have come from it if she HAD stayed. She remembered him as being handsome, arrogant, and prone to silencing any truly challenging argument with his dick. If she was honest with herself, he was the reason she enjoyed debating to this day.

She knew his political positions better than almost anyone. The fact that he was still an ardent gun rights supported drove her absolutely crazy, especially since he was now a father. She found it baffling that his now wife could possibly tolerate his opinions and still be such an outspoken Liberal, mostly because SHE hadn’t been able to do it. She had suggested in a few interviews that his presence at her side undermined her effectiveness as a candidate, and she had meant it at the time, but some of the new media outlets had taken those ideas to a near ridiculous extreme, peppering them liberally with all sorts of racial implications that frankly turned her stomach. She might think that having a Libertarian husband made Denise a less effective Liberal, but to suggest that him being Asian American could be a factor at ALL was not just ridiculous but nausea-inducingly racist… and somehow she had gotten mixed up in the idea.

The speech Denise gave in response to the allegations went so far beyond being inspirational. It dug into the core of American ideology in a way that made Grace proud of her country. She felt a deep swelling of shame for her part in the attacks against this woman… even wondered it she might be a better choice for the presidency than her own husband, for a moment. But then she had brought out Morgan, and kissed him on stage. It was a video that was playing almost constantly on every news channel. The conservatives were having a colossal circle jerk about it; it was obscene, it wasn’t presidential, how dare a woman be allowed to express her love for her husband in a public forum when she’s supposed to be shut away barefoot in the kitchen, or whatever nonsense the conservative media was frothing about these days. To the rest of the country, however, it was a display of profound togetherness. People had prints of them kissing on tee shirts.

Of course, there was another reaction to the kiss that most people weren’t talking about openly, but that Grace herself couldn’t help but feel; that it was the most panty-droppingly sexy thing anyone had ever SEEN. Grace’s old college roommate kept emailing her fanfiction she found online describing the night of passionate lovemaking between Denise and Morgan that must have followed. He was already getting a LOT of attention for his looks, but that moment had turned him into a national sex symbol.

Thankfully, the moment was so late in the campaign, and so controversial even among the democrats, that her husband was able to ride his steady wave of support right to the nomination. She hadn’t been aware that his campaign had been working with Denise to make her the VP candidate. It obviously made sense, she could see that, but she felt a little personally slighted by the decision. She had spoken out about the congresswoman, and to have her now become a part of husband’s campaign… Of course, she had been incredibly generous about the nomination. Denise’s own speech had given her a graceful way out, but talking about togetherness and our mutual desire to help the country, but she couldn’t help but feel like the bad guy in this situation.

She crossed the hotel’s wide lobby, looking up at it’s huge crystal chandelier. For once, the place seemed refreshingly empty. Everyone, she supposed, was busy working hard at whatever it was they did that had brought them to the convention center. Her job, it seemed, was the only one that finished for the moment. She turned and walked toward the bar. This might be her last free evening to simply relax with a cosmo. She walked into the door, finding the bar more or less empty as well. She stepped through the entrance, approaching the only person that seemed to be there, a lone figure sitting by himself.

All at once, she realized that there was one person in the entire convention center whose job was also done for the time being; the person with the exact same job she had. Morgan Liu himself.

She exhaled, looking him over in the split second before he turned and saw her standing there. For all the talking about him she’d done in the past three months, joining him on stage this afternoon had been the very first time she’d been in the same room with him since she was 21 years old, saying goodbye to him before she left school. As she recalled, he had been wearing considerably less at the time. He had aged amazingly… he looked slightly weathered, but he had the exact same build and gorgeous jawline… he actually looked MORE fit than he had in college, if that was possible. Again, her mind drifted all on it’s own to that kiss with his wife, and all the implications of what must have followed. She remembered exactly what it had been like to be on the receiving end of his affections, and found herself going a little soft between the legs just standing there…

The spell was broken as he turned, and recognition crossed his face. God, what he must think of her. She smiled weakly, realizing she had a lot to apologize for, but having no clue where she should even begin. “H...hi…” she offered awkwardly, resting her hands on her sides. “I can… leave you alone, if you like…”

She sighed at his response, stepping forward to slide into the stool beside him. “Denise… was really amazing today. She’s something else.” She said, already realizing how much of a weak platitude it was.

Morgan was just beginning to enjoy the quiet solitude of the empty bar when he heard the sound of footsteps near the entrance from the lobby. More out of curiosity than anything else, he turned and raised his head, immediately regretting his decision to do so upon seeing possibly the one person in the world besides Kenneth Fairchild himself with whom he wanted absolutely nothing to do at that particular moment.

It had been difficult enough sharing the convention stage earlier in the evening with Grace and their respective spouses, though mercifully Denise had been there as a physical buffer between the two of them while the press bombarded them with camera flashes, and there had been no need for them to actually interact. Still, putting on a practiced smile became even more difficult in her presence, which was part of why he had retreated to the bar at the first available opportunity.

Now, though, it seemed that a little interaction was going to be unavoidable.

“I can… leave you alone, if you like,” she offered, and for a few moments he was tempted to tell her to do exactly that.

But now was not the time to be rude, especially not to the wife of the man running the whole damn show.

“Hello, Grace,” he said forcibly, before gesturing with both arms at the empty bar stools all around him, the most enthusiastic invitation he could muster given the circumstances.

He couldn’t help but watch as she stepped up to the bar, her hips swaying back and forth in the air with each step. Motherhood had changed her a bit--Morgan recalled that she and Kenneth now had two children--filling out and accentuating her curves, but the tight, athletic body that had so captivated him when they first met in college was still clearly the foundation underneath. She looked tired, as did everyone involved in the campaign at that point, but nonetheless composed, refined, and absolutely beautiful.

He scooted his stool slightly away from her to make room as she planted herself next to him. While he supposed it would have been strange for her to take any of the other seats, a part of him wished very much that she had. As she sat, he caught a breath of her perfume, a familiar spicy-sweet fragrance that immediately drew him back to their college days, when her scent frequently lingered on all of his bedding.

“The bartender’s off doing inventory in the back,” he told her, “so if you’re looking for something not within arm’s reach, you’re out of luck. If you drink scotch…”

Find your own bottle, the devil on his shoulder whispered.

“... I could use some help with this bottle.”

He turned back to his glass and focused his attention on the liquid that remained inside, sitting in silence as he wrestled with the storm of emotions that seeing her without the distraction of the crowds, the lights, and the fanfare. Most immediate was the hurt and anger at what he viewed as a low blow from her during the primaries, but peppered with hints and flashes of fondness, attraction, and regret that dated many years back to college. Although he was trying his best not to be rude, he hoped that the awkward silence would induce her to leave so that he could contain the cacophony of feelings on his own.

Instead, she tried to make conversation.

“Denise… was really amazing today. She’s something else.”

“She’s amazing every day,” he responded, a bit too quickly and with a bit too much snap in his tone.

He fell silent again, trying to put a lid on his emotions before he did anything stupid, but it was too late. That little crack splintered and spider-webbed into many more, and with the aid of the alcohol, everything he had been holding inside for weeks came spilling out.

“What the hell happened to you, Grace?” he seethed. “When did that principled and idealistic girl that I argued with in college become just another political surrogate to be whored out to prattle off the talking point of the day?”

He immediately regretted the words as they came spilling out of his mouth, and he could tell by the way she tensed that she was moments from storming out, or worse. While he had wanted her to leave him alone, and clearly needed to shut up before he said something else idiotic, he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that was how things ended.

“Grace… I… I’m sorry,” he stammered, reaching for her hand.

The feeling when his fingers brushed hers was like touching a live wire. Immediately he was bombarded by images of her fingers laced with his as they crossed the campus quad together, and memories of her fingers doing things that made his body burn hot from the inside out far more effectively than the scotch he was drinking; memories that he pushed away as inappropriate for a married man to be having.

“I… I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just… I mean…”

He sighed heavily and started again.

“How could you have said the things you did about Denise? That she wouldn’t be able to advocate her ideas effectively because of ME? You and I fought all the damn time about politics, Grace -- how many times were YOU unable to stick to your ideals because I disagreed? Remember the election that year that we dated? We went through the whole damn voter’s guide and shouted at each other about every single measure we disagreed on, but when it came time to fill out your ballot, how many votes did you change because of me?”

If her memory was as sharp as it had been in college, Morgan knew she would remember that the only positions that had changed as a result of that shouting match were the ones they tried out in the very different and far less clothed shouting match that followed.

“I couldn’t shake your convictions about anything. You know all about Denise, her record, her career. Tell me, honestly, did you really think I could change her mind any more than I changed yours?”

“She’s amazing every day,”

She winced at the tone in his voice. She had somehow hoped that he was going to be the bigger man here, that he’d give her some room to begin bridging the gulf between them, but she should have known that wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t a person that let things go that easily. She reached up, touching her hair idly. “I… yea. I guess she is…”

“What the hell happened to you, Grace?” he suddenly unloaded on her. “When did that principled and idealistic girl that I argued with in college become just another political surrogate to be whored out to prattle off the talking point of the day?”

She stared at him, agast. What… the hell… She might have said some things that had hurt him, but how… DARE he? She squared her jaw, and started to turn to leave, but she felt his hand on hers. She started to pull it away, ignoring the quiet voice reminding her how long it had been since he’d last touched her.

“Grace… I… I’m sorry, I… I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you goddamned shouldn’t have!” she growled at him. “I might have been out of line, but you DON’T get to pretend that having grown as a person in the past twenty years is something I should be ASHAMED of.” she yanked her hand from his, a pretty dramatic gesture that she immediately regretted. “The rest of us aren’t trapped in amber, Morgan. We’re ADULTS.”

“ It’s just… I mean…” He started, clearly a little bit into his liquor. “How could you have said the things you did about Denise? That she wouldn’t be able to advocate her ideas effectively because of ME?”

She exhaled, turning in her seat leaning against the bar. He was right, she knew it. Her suggestions had REALLY hurt him. She had made it sound like the things he really believed him were some sort of poison, preventing a rational woman from acting rationally. She hated some of the things that he supported, but even when they had been at each other's throats every single day, she had never once though he was anything but an honorable man. She shook her head. “I… it wasn’t about you. Morgan…” she said softly. “It was about not wanting a president that had competing ideas in her head. You KNOW how I feel about a lot of…”

“You and I fought all the damn time about politics, Grace,” he said, clearly still very angry, “how many times were YOU unable to stick to your ideals because I disagreed? Remember the election that year that we dated?” She closed her eyes at that. Oh god, the election. They screamed at each other until they were horse, and every night they would collide in an angry whirlwind of sex that left her barely able to walk the next day. She’d never cum so many times in a single night in her life. “We went through the whole damn voter’s guide and shouted at each other about every single measure we disagreed on, but when it came time to fill out your ballot, how many votes did you change because of me? I couldn’t shake your convictions about anything.”

She shook her head. This was so typical of him, to craft a strawman argument out of a complete side issue. It CERTAINLY didn’t help to have him bring up one of the most erotic weeks of her entire life in the process. “We were a couple of kids, Morgan,” she insisted, “There was nothing to be ashamed of…” she paused, faltering, needing to change her wording given the fact that they BOTH knew exactly what those arguments led to. “nothing... wrong… with those arguments. People SHOULD have that sort of debate. But you’re comparing that to the PRESIDENT having a spouse that challenges her beliefs. You’re actually going to sit here and tell me that she can adequately support gun control legislation with you in her ear?”

He seemed genuinely frustrated at that. Grace recognized the look in his eyes, and couldn’t help the knot of excitement swelling in the pit of her stomach. This was a VERY familiar position, to feel herself getting furious at him, and to watch him craft an even more infuriating response… They must have done this a hundred times, and she remembered EXACTLY how it ended. It wouldn’t end like that tonight of course… but… She couldn’t help but feel how flushed her body became at the memory...

“You know all about Denise, her record, her career.” He responded. God, Denise, she thought, again remembering the kiss. “Tell me, honestly, did you really think I could change her mind any more than I changed yours?”

“Of COURSE you can, Morgan! You changed mine all the time!” she said, her face flushed hot with frustration as she turned and slid down from the stool, too livid to stay sitting. “I hated it every time, but you are WAY too smart and dedicated to your beliefs for you to claim that you don’t effect the people around you!” She exhaled, the exposed freckles of her chest flushing hot. “I am… I am MORTIFIED by what people did with the things I said, Morgan. Your wife is an amazing woman, and you know how I…” she blinked, her brain catching itself before she spoke. “You know I respect you. But I MEANT what I said. I want an effective liberal president, and no one, not even Denise, can do that while married to you.”

He could tell from the immediate shift in the air that he’d stepped in it, deep. The conciliatory tone of her initial greeting vaporized in an instant, replaced by the feisty, tenacious Grace that he remembered so well. Before he fully grasped what was happening, they were in the thick of it, voices raised, just like the old days.

Well, not just like the old days. Like him, she had a ring on her left hand now too, which occasionally glinted and glimmered as it caught the lights from behind the bar as she gestured emphatically. Once the argument ended, that would be the end of it. There would be no passionate physical reconciliation.

Despite the rising level of tension and anger in the room, he could sense that she was still trying to find a bridge across the chasm. Every here and there, she would say something that could have been the start of the way forward… but much to his frustration, she refused to let go of what he viewed as the fundamentally flawed premise of her entire position.

“My god, Grace, I’m her husband, not her nominee to head up the ATF,” he said in disbelief. “She would’ve had an entire administration full of rank and file Democrats whispering in her ear. With an echo chamber like that, is it really such a horrifying thought that someone close to her might actually present an intellectual challenge every once in awhile? Maybe this country would be better off if every president had someone like that in their lives.”

Something he had read once from John Stuart Mill about the best safeguard for one’s beliefs being an invitation for the world to prove them unfounded came to mind, but he didn’t want to descend into a discussion of philosophical minutia.

“Yes, she and I fight about politics, just like you and I used to.”

Not quite the same, the little voice in his head nagged. Yes, Denise argued with him with the same intensity and conviction as Grace did, but a little more maturity, years of legal training and practice, and a concerted effort not to startle their daughter with the sound of mommy and daddy yelling at each other meant the disagreements were more tempered and hushed. And they never ended with angry sex; Denise held her own beliefs in too much esteem to ever have countenanced the thought of “rewarding” a challenge to her ideals by indulging in carnal pleasures. Perhaps if Grace knew that…

No, that was none of her business.

“But look at her voting record,” he pressed, trying a different tack. “She was unabashedly in support of that safe firearm storage law that passed when she was in the state assembly -- after she and I were already married. She has supported bills to raise taxes on families making more than $250,000 a year -- even though it would have raised our own taxes and I keep telling her that $250,000 a year doesn’t make a person ‘rich’ these days. She has consistently been recognized as one of the most staunchly progressive members of the House Democratic Caucus. If I had this kind of power over her, don’t you think I would have played my Jedi mind trick years ago, even just once?”

When he finally paused to take a breath, he was surprised to find his heart racing and adrenaline surging through him, as if he’d just gone a round on the mat with a sparring partner. Looking across at Grace, he could see the fire in her eyes as well, the fire that had always burned so brightly within her during their youthful arguments. But that was equally surprising to him, because he knew all too well that the flame had been fueled not only by passion for her beliefs, but by their passion for each other -- the same passion that inevitably drove them into one another’s arms no matter how angry they were when they ran out of words to shout, tearing and pawing at one another as they vented the tension that remained through pure physical pleasure. Taken aback by what he now saw, he wondered if she was seeing the same fire burning in him.

Just the thought of it caused a surge of blood to rush downward, and he tightened his grip on the edge of the bar counter in an effort to re-center himself.

“If… if being married to me would have made Denise such an ineffective liberal president” he said, his voice a little more subdued as he tried to refocus, “then why would you want her as the vice president? Why would you want her to be first in line for the job should something terrible happen, and give her the tie-breaking vote in the Senate?”

The look of doubt that crossed Grace’s features was another surprise to him. Had she not known that Denise was on the short list? Had she and Kenneth not talked about it in depth, arguing over all the pros and cons? The litigator in him wanted to pounce all over the possibility, run it to ground, and tear it apart, exposing the hypocrisy that the woman telling him he was too much of an influence over his spouse had possibly not even been consulted beforehand by hers regarding one of the biggest decisions of the presidential campaign.

But he couldn’t do it. Not a low blow like that, not to Grace, even though he would have done it without hesitation back in college.

I guess you’re not the only one who’s grown as a person, he thought in her general direction.

Suddenly exasperated, he sank back down onto his stool and took a sip of his drink, hoping the burn of the liquor might take his mind off the unexpectedly confusing mix of emotions the argument was stirring up.

“With an echo chamber like that, is it really such a horrifying thought that someone close to her might actually present an intellectual challenge every once in awhile?”

She ran her hands over her head. This was EXACTLY what he always did. Managed to argue literally everything but the actual question at hand. It was like shouting into a goddamn wind tunnel.

“Are you REALLY going to stand there arguing that your own arguments aren’t EFFECTIVE, Morgan? That has to be the most asinine… I mean, even for you! It falls apart on the face of it!” She stepped away from him her own blood throbbing through her muscles, making her legs feel very weak before she shook her head and glowered at him.” You DON’T get to make that argument with me. Maybe anyone else, but not ME. I KNOW how smart you are.”

“But look at her voting record! She was unabashedly in support of that safe firearm storage law that passed when she was in the state assembly -- after she and I were already married. She has supported bills to raise taxes on families making more than $250,000 a year…”

She shook her head, walking away again, listening to him prattle on about his wife's voting record. It was like she wasn’t even in the room. She hated this. Hated that people like Morgan existed, people that were so ready to defend their opinion they wouldn’t even CONSIDER the alternative. And she could feel her anger seething in her stomach, and her chest… and elsewhere. She reached up, touching her throat. It was so fucking hot in here.

“...don’t you think I would have played my Jedi mind trick years ago, even just once?”

She closed on him, her voice barely under a shout. “I’m not describing a jedi mind trick, you arrogant dick, I’m talking about a woman being bombarded with EXACTLY this sort of argument!” She was right in his face, barely restraining herself from grabbing him. “The fact that she’s been this effective in the face of your bullshit is amazing!”

He seemed to back away for a moment. She didn’t like resorting to swearing at him, but he wasn’t going to listen to anything else at this point, she saw how he was standing. His shoulders were forward, his hips squared to hers, she knew EXACTLY what he was doing, he was squaring for a fight and she was falling right into it. She could practically feel the throb of his pulse in the soft spot on the side of his neck. She exhaled, her breath coming heavy.

“If… if being married to me would have made Denise such an ineffective liberal president,” He said in a softer voice “then why would you want her as the vice president?”

Oh, you son of a bitch. She thought. How dare you. How DARE you.

“Why would you want her to be first in line for the job should something terrible happen, and give her the tie-breaking vote in the Senate?”

She shook her head, her lip twitching, her eyes trailing over him, trying to find some rational part of her that would argue exactly why her husband had selected his wife without telling her, but her frustration wouldn’t let her, she tried to exhale, to find some footing before she replied, but the look on his face was driving her crazy… and those god-damned EYES….

She lunged forward, her hands wrapping around his head, clinging to him angrily, her mouth crashing into his, her lips throbbingly eager, her head turning to the side as her body collided with his, supple, anxious and hungry, the kiss full of violence and desire...

He recognized that expression, the way her head shook, sending waves of motion swishing through her sandy blonde tresses. The argument had struck a nerve deep in her core, and Morgan braced himself for the words that would come out of her mouth next. He didn’t know what they would be, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty. They’d been in that position before, and he was ready to parry the next thrust.

What he WASN’T ready for was her hands grabbing him by the head, pulling his mouth onto hers in a kiss so forceful he felt his teeth clicking against hers and cutting into his lips. The intensity of her sudden assault froze his mind in shock and surprise, as he struggled to rationalize and understand what was happening, and what to do next. His body, however, was not so paralyzed, and long-forgotten physical reflexes took over almost immediately. His hands found her waist, resting just above her hip bones, swinging her body to one side so that her back was pressed against the edge of the bar counter, his weight pressing into her as his tongue snaked past her soft, warm lips. The surge of bloodflow he had felt between his legs earlier grew into a near-uncomfortable throbbing in response to the intertwining of their limbs, bodies, and mouths.

What is happening?! his inner voice demanded, still reeling in shock. This… you can’t… we can’t...

But in the brief moments it had taken for him to process the situation, he had already lost control -- of it and of himself. He tugged at her lower lip with his teeth, pulling and sucking it hungrily into his mouth before releasing it and trapping her whole mouth with his in a renewed kissing frenzy. The throbbing between his legs intensified even more as his dress slacks bulged against her stomach, his manhood hard and aching to fulfill its biological purpose -- a purpose they had once explored together to the immense pleasure of both of them, and which his entire body now seemed to crave.

His hands had already wandered to the bottom of her skirt suit, beginning to work it up her thighs, when they were interrupted by an unexpected throat clearing.

Suddenly jerked back to reality, he pulled his lips from hers and took a half-step back, the feet of his bar stool scraping noisily against the floor as he almost knocked it over. He stared at Grace for a few moments--at those soft lips still glistening with their mingled saliva, calling to him, beckoning him back into her embrace--and then forced himself to turn to the source of their interruption. The bartender, a young man in his twenties, had returned from the back of the bar, half-rolling and half-carrying a fresh keg of beer to replenish the tap.

“Umm, I don’t mean to barge in,” he said, “but I’m gonna have to close down for the night pretty soon. I’ve gotta go get another keg from the back, but once that’s in…”

“N-no, that’s fine,” Morgan replied, finding his voice a little hoarse. “We appreciate the advance notice.”

He reached into his pocket, fumbling for his billfold and dropping a $20 on the counter for the mixologist, having already paid for the bottle of scotch earlier. The young man nodded to him and slid the money off the counter, turning back to return to the back kitchen. Before he left the room, however, he looked back.

“Look, I like your husband,” he said, looking at Grace, before turning to Morgan. “And your wife. I’m planning to vote for them, and I hope they beat the other guys. Whatever’s going on here is none of my business, but … you guys really should be more… y’know… discreet.”

Then he was gone, leaving the two of them alone once more. He looked back at Grace, still standing easily within arm’s reach of him. He still didn’t fully understand what had just happened, but he knew they had gotten off easy. This was their chance to put an end to it and walk away, and nobody--other than the bartender, who seemed quite willing to keep his mouth shut--would be the wiser.

But those lips… her eyes, still ablaze with desire… the feel of her body in his arms again after so long… it all called to him. As if in slow motion, he felt himself being drawn in again, his hands rising from his sides, finding her hips. Again there was that jolt of pure electricity, the surge of memories... his fingers slipping under the waistband of thin cotton panties, sliding the elastic waistband over her hip bones, her stomach taut and flat as she lifted her hips from his bed to aid him...

He could still push himself away at that moment, but instead he let his hands grasp her hips, the slide around behind her, cradling the small of her back. He drew a deep breath, and then they were kissing again. There was less ferocity than before, but just below the surface he could feel the need, the ache…

“Where can we go?” he asked in a hushed but urgent whisper.

It wouldn’t be long before the bartender returned again, and although his brain told him he needed to stop, his body told him he needed… her.

Oh… GOD…

What… the fuck… was she doing…

She could feel him immediately responding. The strength in his return of her kiss was overwhelming. As much as she had rushed him he came back at her just as intensely, his body firm against her, his hands immediately reaching down to her skirt, pulling it up, exposing her naked legs… god, there was never just making out with him… everything was just prelude to him claiming her, to him overpowering her sexually and pushing himself inside her… She felt a shudder rock her when she realized just how ready she was to feel him again...

The single sound that broke them apart affected him more than it did her. She was still breathing heavily, a victim of her own overpowering lust. She barely saw the bartender as he warned them to find somewhere to go. She already knew EXACTLY how stupid this was. Her conscious was screaming at her, but the familiar rage and lust was surging in her, and she needed to have him take her NOW. He was reaching for her, and she was melting against him, her hands going around his shoulders… his body as compact and firm and athletic as it was twenty years ago… the firecracker of just how wrong this was exploding in her gut as she looked up at him, her lips trembling with desire for him as they kissed. Oh GOD she’d never cheated on her husband before, but…

He spoke into her mouth in a hungry whisper. “Where can we go?”

Her mind raced. It was going to happen. He was going to take her somewhere, and strip her naked, and thrust himself inside her. She shook her head, looking up at him. They couldn’t do this… Oh god… if someone found out… the disaster they could cause…

“The lower penthouse…” she said softly. “They reserved it for Donaldson, but he couldn’t make it… it’s included in our suite… my key…”

She felt his hand yank hers, and she followed him, struggling to straighten her outfit as they stepped out into the lobby. She felt her mind screaming at her. What the fuck are you doing? NOW? HERE?

The elevator made a small chime, and she held her keyfob to the reader, indicating that they were headed up to the penthouses. She looked around frantically for a camera as the door was closing, and saw none, so as soon as the door closed she turned to him, her hands grasping desperately at the buttons on his shirt...

He didn’t know who Donaldson was, and frankly at that moment didn’t care. Although he knew it was wrong, he felt a surge of excitement when Grace mentioned the lower penthouse. He drew her lower lip into his mouth and gave it a firm tug with his teeth before pulling apart, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her away from the bar when she didn’t immediately lead the way herself. They separated when they crossed into lobby, heading toward the elevators with him a few steps ahead of her. He wanted desperately to kiss her and touch her body as they waited for an elevator to arrive, but he forced himself to be content with giving her hand a firm squeeze. Mercifully, it wasn’t long before they heard the subdued chime of the elevator and the woosh of its doors sliding open. Even the time it took for the doors to close again seemed like an eternity, but eventually they did, and they were alone again.

This time he took her face in his hands and pulled her to him, kissing and sucking at her lips as she fumbled for his shirt buttons, the hum of the elevator punctuated by the sound of their lips smacking wetly in the small lift. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew they weren’t safe yet; until they reached her designated penthouse floor, they might still stop at one of the other suites along the way, though that risk was lower. In the heat of the moment the risk was low enough for him, though, and he grasped her by the waist, sliding his fingers up her sides, over her rib cage and to the undersides of her breasts, supporting one in each hand, kneading her through her blouse, eager to have her bare flesh directly in his hands. The elevator chimed each floor as it raced upward, but even so, he wondered if they would make it. He urgently wanted, NEEDED to be inside of her… even if it meant taking her in the elevator car.

Fortunately, he felt the lurch in his stomach as the elevator decelerated, and this time when the chime sounded, the doors slid open to a short hallway with a set of double doors at the end. There were no other doors, no way in but through the elevator. They were completely alone; he could have pressed her against the wall and filled her with his aching erection right then. But knew they needed only a little longer, and he wrapped his arm around her slender waist, guiding her toward the doors as they half-kissed, half-stumbled down the hallway, fumbling and grabbing at each other.

The doors rattled gently as they both bumped up against them. He knew they needed her to use her key card to get inside, but he just couldn’t… stop… kissing her. It was as if he was trying to satisfy years of repressed hunger all at once, devouring her mouth with his while he pawed at her back and ass with his hands, even lifting her small, athletic frame from the floor a few times, trapping her back against the double doors briefly before allowing her to slide back down onto her feet.

His erection throbbed and strained in the confines of his slacks, aching for freedom… and for the hot, wet embrace of her body. The bulge in his pants rubbed and crushed uncomfortably against her body as they kissed, pressing into her belly, her hips, and against her pubic mound as their bodies shifted against one another, until finally he felt his bulge slide between her thighs, pressing up underneath her skirt, eliciting a throaty moan from his lips.

“Grace…”

He cradled her face in his right hand, sliding his thumb along her cheek to her jawbone. Panting heavily, he kissed and nibbled along the line of her jaw, toward her ear... letting the tip of his tongue dart out to lick her earlobe, before drawing it into his teeth, biting and tugging.

She could hear herself screaming in her own head as she ripped his shirt open, buttons bouncing onto the tiled floor of the elevator, hungrily meeting his kiss with her own, his tongue so forceful she already knew they were bruising each other. Hiss hands slid up her body from her waist, closing over her breasts, claiming them. He was pressing her back against the wall of the elevator, and she leaned against it, lifting a bare leg against his body, feeling the thick hardness of his cock pressing into her stomach through his slacks.

This… was completely insane. She had spent months speaking out against him and his wife. She was MARRIED. She loved her husband, she was dedicated to his campaign… how could she feel so DESPERATE to have this man claim her? It made no sense, but as the door opened and they stumbled to the door of the penthouse she felt her whole body throb with need. She hadn’t been this desperate to get fucked since…

Since the last time Morgan was fucking her.

They collided with the door, and she struggled to get the keycard into the door, but she could barely pull herself away from him to breathe. His hands slid over her ass, and she could feel the tense need in his touch. He wanted her naked, and wanted it now. She could feel her skirt sliding up under his touch. Oh god… She fumbled uselessly with the card, completely consumed with his kiss… finally feeling the small click as the door lock gave way even as he moaned her name, cradling her head in his hand in a way that threatened to take her knees out from under her. His mouth moved from hers, working over her jawline before he caught her earlobe, biting it in exactly the way that he KNEW would overwhelm her. She could feel the shudder start in her spine and shoot right between her legs. She couldn’t squeeze her legs together against the intense spasm happening inside her, she could only press herself needfully against the hardness of his cock…

The door swung open behind her. She stumbled backward, dragging him with her, flinging the door so it slammed shut behind him. They stood in the open floorplan of the penthouse with it’s soft eggshell furniture, exquisite slate tiles, and the huge windows looking out over the city. They were completely alone, even though the bright lights of the city made it feel as though the whole world could watch them. She exhaled, her lips raw from kissing him. As they looked at each other. His shirt hung open, revealing the tank top he wore under his dress shirt. Her dress was twisted at her hips, yanked up her thighs from his needful grasping of her backside. She was hot and flushed, her hair half-out of her tie, the freckles at her cleavage standing out against her pale skin. She swallowed, taking in the way he looked at her, the powerful, athletic arch of his body.

This… was really happening, she thought. She was about to cheat on her husband.

She reached to her hip, unfastening the clasp of her dress, unwrapping it from around her waist and pulling her dress away letting it fall back from her shoulders. She wore a black teddy under her dress, something meant to be both comfortable and exciting for her husband if it had come to that. She hadn’t in her wildest dream imagined she’d be wearing it for anyone else. She wore her tall heels without nylons, and already knew he was going to want her to keep them on.

She pursed her lips, reaching up and pulling her hair out of it’s tie. “This… doesn’t change anything Morgan…” She said, casting it aside as her blonde hair tumbled over her naked shoulder. “I meant everything I said, and I still mean it.”

He was so enthralled with her… the scent of her hair and body enveloping him as he breathed hotly against her ear and neck... the heat between her legs pulsing and radiating against the hardness in his pants… that when the door finally accepted her key card and swung open, he nearly tumbled into the room on top of her. Fortunately, they both managed to hold their footing, bodies still pressed close as they stumbled together, the door slamming shut behind them.

Finally alone, safe within the confines of a room all to themselves, they stood facing each other for a beat. His shirt was completely open, most of the buttons now lost forever somewhere in the elevator. They were both breathing hard, her soft lips swollen from the intensity of their kissing. Her wraparound dress was was twisted and bunched, and her hair now approached a disheveled mess, and yet, as he silently stared at her, standing in the glow of the city lights streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the suite, he was overpowered by how exquisitely sexy she looked… and how undeniably he wanted her.

As he watched, she unfastened her dress and began to disrobe, unwrapping the black garment from around her body. There was a deliberateness to her every move; she always set just the right pace to drive him wild. His breath caught in his chest as her dress also fell away, revealing not the expected bra-and-panty set, but a black teddy clinging to the curves of her toned, tight body, wrapping her stomach, waist, and beyond in enticing sheer lace. A shiver of excitement coursed through him as he realized she had planned and dressed for this… for sex.

Yes, it was for another man… her husband… but the thought of it made him burn for her nonetheless.

God, her husband. She was married. HE was married. They were on the brink of doing something that could never be undone. But deep in his core, he knew it was already too late. With every word of their argument their needful desire for one another had been building, and the moment they kissed, they had unleashed something that could not be tamed. Married or not, they were going to fuck.

“This… doesn’t change anything Morgan,” she said to him as she untied her hair, her gaze unwavering. “I meant everything I said, and I still mean it.”

It was so typically Grace, unrelenting in mind and spirit even as she was surrendering her body to him. And yet, it was also very typically him -- he could recall few arguments where either of them ever yielded an intellectual point to the other. Their physical selves had always been the offering that established harmony between them, however briefly, and tonight would be no different.

The sight of her standing in front of him in lingerie she had put on for another man, her creamy skin awash with the city lights, was simply too much for him to resist. With just a few steps he bridged the distance between them, leaning in toward her, again letting his lips graze her jawline. This time, instead of sliding up toward her ear, he worked down to her neck, kissing his way down through her blonde hair that was now unfurled across her shoulder. The thin straps and low cut of her teddy gave him ample access to her shoulders and collarbone, and as his lips kissed and nipped across the front of her chest, he lifted her off her feet, slowly walking her backward toward the massive window, until they were right up against it, the panorama of the city spread out just beyond the transparent barrier. He pressed his entire body against hers, his throbbing cock separated from her by only his thin boxer briefs and the lace of her teddy. His lips found hers again, and immediately they were right back where they had been before entering the suite, sucking and kissing furiously, tongues writhing and probing. His hands slid about her body, raising her arms above her head and palming up and down her sides before grasping at the cups of her teddy, tugging them down to expose her breasts and nipples to his roaming fingers.

The penthouse was furnished with a long, luxurious couch not far from where they stood, and a king sized bed in an adjoining bedroom. As he teased her nipples with his fingertips and pressed his bulging manhood against the thin strip of lace feebly separating his sex from hers, he knew they wouldn’t make it to either one.

Leaving one hand under one thigh to support her weight, he trailed the other down her stomach, fingers dragging across the lace covering her abdomen, diving downward toward the heat emanating from between her legs. His fingertips pressed and probed at the fabric, already soaked through with wetness, that covered her pussy. He simply didn’t have the restraint anymore to remove the teddy properly, and slipped his fingers inside of the thin garment through one of the leg openings, firmly pulling it to the side, stretching the fabric to its limits and letting it dig into one cheek of her ass, baring her wet, swollen vulva to his touch. He hastily freed his engorged cock through the fly of his pants, moaning loudly with anticipation as he nuzzled the thick, swollen tip against her parted labia, nestling himself up against the tight, wet ring of her entrance, which began to stretch around him as soon as they made contact. With his throbbing head pressed into her moist cleft, he moved one hand to each cheek of her ass, lifting her upward in anticipation.

This is it, his conscience protested weakly. If you do this, if you don't stop now, you'll be cheating on Denise.

But he was already too far gone, hopelessly caught in his lust for Grace and the irrepressible need that was only strengthened by the sensation of her soft, wet pussy lips gliding against his cock. With her weight still supported in his hands, he moved his hips slightly back and forth, letting her ample wetness coat the head of his cock. The wet sounds of her juices seemed to resonate through the room as he felt the hot, slick fluid run from her flesh to his. Then with a forceful downward yank, he plunged into her wet, hot pussy, burying his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder and shouting against her body as the tightness of her sex pushed back his skin and his swollen head slipped fully inside of her, bathed in slick, wet heat.

He stood there, his eyes on hers as though she hadn't just stripped down to lingerie for him. The look on his face was frustratingly somber, almost judgmental. She had never known how to read him when he was like this, and it infuriated her. She felt her chest rising and falling, her breath burning her lungs, the waiting driving her insane. This was the worst thing she could do.

Suddenly he was on her again, his hands on her bare thighs as his mouth came into hers, her tongue quickly finding his as she turned her head, eagerly meeting his kiss with her own. She felt his hands working under her, and she relented, letting him lift her. she felt her body completely suspended for a moment, his powerful arms holding her against the firm muscles of his body. She wrapped her legs around him, clinging to him as he walked her forward, her back coming into contact with the cool glass behind them...

she violently yanked his shirt off his shoulders as his mouth went to her neck again, making her groan with need. she could feel him reach under her leg again, not sure what was happening or caring as his teeth touched the flesh of her throat...

Oh god. she could feel him. His cock was as hard and bulky as ever, his head probing along the wisp of lace fabric covering her pussy. She grit her teeth, wrapping her arms around her chest as he pressed her against the glass wall looking out over the city. His hand beneath her slid over the bare flesh of her thigh to pull her lingerie to the side. she was completely exposed to him.... His cock nuzzled into the tender, moist flesh of her labia...

She clenched her eyes shut, shaking her head mournfully. "just... just fucking take me, you bastard..."

He had never entered her gently. in all their time forever, there was never once a moment of slow, romantic penetration. He yanked her against him as he thrust violently into her waiting depths, his thickness an her natural tightness making them as snug as ever, plunging inside her, her flowing arousal sloshing against his thighs. He hadn't been inside her since before she'd had her children, but even with the intervening years the feeling of him roughly claiming her was exactly as she'd remembered... all the years of privately masturbating to the memory of his cock suddenly flooding back to her.

She hooked her ankles behind his waist, clinging to him desperately, and rocked against his rigid shaft, trying to match his thrusts. His mouth returned to hers, his late-evening stubble burning her cheeks. she could feel his hands clutching her under her ass as he yanked her against him, slamming her into the glass.

Oh... god...

His body and muscle memory took over almost immediately once she was impaled on him, making it clear that despite the years that had passed since they were last together, he still remembered how to take her. And from the way she responded, locking her legs together around his waist and rocking herself back and forth on his cock as it stretched her tight, wet pussy, it was equally clear she remembered as well. Together they slipped effortlessly into an erotic dance that was frantic and urgent, yet rhythmic. His breath came and went in gasps timed with each thrust, and he could feel her doing the same, exhaling hotly against him.

His sheer totality of the situation quickly overwhelmed his senses, surrounding him with the taste of her kiss, the scent of her body and arousal, the sensation of her tight walls clenching and gripping his rigid shaft in ways that only she could, the sting of her fingers clawing and gripping at his back and shoulders as he repeatedly pulled her body against him. It was as if they had never been apart at all; they could just have easily have been pressed up against the door of his dorm room, rather than the vast plate glass window of the suite.

But as he glanced past her face, past her gorgeous features currently frozen in a look of intense pleasure, the view of the city sprawled out stories below reminded him that they weren’t college kids in a dorm room, not this time.

To his own surprise, the reminder of where they were, what they were both risking, only intensified his desire.

His fingers dug harder into her ass, and he began to thrust with even greater ferocity, his arms tense as he continued to raise and lower the weight of her body in time with each thrust. The sound of their bodies coming together began to resonate through the room, an unmistakable slapping together of bare skin accompanied by the wet sloshing of her arousal and the deep, resonant vibration of the window each time he slammed her against it. The muscles in his arms, legs, and core began to burn with exertion, but he simply channeled it into her, fucking her harder, faster… biting at the soft spots of her neck and shoulders and nipping at her ear. As the intensity of their coupling continued to grow, they were quickly covered with a thin sheen of sweat that glistened in the dim light of the room and caused their bodies to slide wetly against one another.

“Fuck, Grace!” he growled in her ear.

His arms were shaking, his wrists and fingers protesting the effort of continuing to support the weight of her body as they continued to fuck frantically. He knew he was running the risk of his arms just giving out entirely if they continued as they were, and reluctantly allowed his manhood to glide free of the steaming wet confines of her pussy so that he could lower her feet to the floor. The cool air of the room stirring across the slick layer of her wetness that coated his cock sent a chill through his body, and he could feel every fiber of his being screaming for him to bury himself inside of her again. He briefly considered simply turning her and bending her at the waist to take her from behind, but he knew that without something for her to support herself on, that would be almost as short-lived as what they had just been doing. Looking quickly around the suite, he spotted the luxury sofa in the middle room that had gone ignored earlier. Not this time.

Grabbing Grace by the hips, he led her to the back of the sofa, placing one hand between her shoulder blades and pressing her forward, bending her over the backrest with her ass presented toward him. He adjusted the fabric of her lingerie briefly, making sure it remained out of their way, before tugging at her ass cheeks, spreading them and exposing again the glistening wet gash of her pussy. When their bodies were aligned, he once more let the tip of his cock nestle into her engorged labia before pressing himself into her, drawing a sharp breath through clenched teeth at the renewed pleasure of her wetness flooding around him and grabbing a fistful of her flowing blonde hair as he began to thrust, again and again.