Page 49 of I Would Beg For You

And now, he’s texted back. As much as I’m craving to find what he’s said, I’m wary of opening the thread again. What if he breaks up with me? Via text. I really am living in a sea of Taylor Swift lyrics with him, it seems.

I sit on the bed, debating whether to open the text or not. Curiosity finally gets the better of me, and I pull it up.

Tina:You were my first, you know.

My eyes boggle at his words.

Me:Yeah, right. I saw you with those other girls.

Tina:You were my first quickie.

Me:???

Tina:In the attic.

Heat suffuses me when I think back of what happened on that rug. Valentino is a big man, proportionate everywhere. My hand barely wrapped around his girth. I was also right wondering how I’d be able to get him into my mouth. I hardly fitted the silky, hot head of his cock in, and my jaw was already stretching like never before after a few licks and sucks.

Me:You tasted so good.

Tina:Now you’re making me horny.

Warmth pools between my thighs. What I wouldn’t give to have his lips on my pussy and his cock inside me right now.

Me:Thinking of my tongue licking your slit, tasting you?

Tina:Fuck!

I loved the taste of his pre-cum. Clean, salty. I wanted to get his cum on my tongue, too, but my pussy was yearning for his fucking too much, and the bitch won in the end.

Another time…

Me:I want to see you.

Tina:You know we can’t. If your father finds out…

Me:I know.

The ticks go blue, but he isn’t typing back. What could he say, anyway? We’re both stuck, prisoners of the life that was thrust upon us by our respective families.

I might be in the gallows right now, but there is a light at the end of this tunnel. Come August, when my dad is made Governor, I’ll be free. I’ll just have to hold on until then.

Will Valentino wait for me, though?

***

More than a month has gone by. Valentino and I have texted a few times, but neither of us has mentioned seeing each other again. I’ve heard wisps of talks my dad is engaging in. The door always closes on me or behind me before ‘big’ business gets discussed, but I hear some bits here and there. A pole pivot of his campaign will be safety, namely going after construction companies that cut corners and put innocent people’s lives at risk.

I was concerned for Valentino at first—his family business is mostly in construction—but I know he has nothing to worry about. He’s not the kind of man who’ll skim funds at the expense of innocents’ lives. Nor would his father have done this, either. I refuse to believe the person who brought up a stalwart man like Valentino would be crooked.

Still, I care about him, and I listen for any tidbit I can find about my dad’s plans. And lately, I’ve found a new treasure trove of information I can dig into.

Anya Brennan often leaves her files on the back seat of the car—I make sure to glimpse whenever I can skim the papers as I gather her stuff for her. She’s taken to making me tag alongwith her everywhere she goes. Like I can be useful to her in her PR efforts, though I know nothing of PR, and that field doesn’t really overlap with policymaking, which is my strength.

This morning, I’m having it up to here with her ordering me around like I’m her subordinate, or worse, an unpaid intern. I’m hovering in the kitchen, hoping to make her late so she’ll decide to leave without me.

My father’s not home, as usual. I hardly see him anymore. I’m looking forward to a blessed moment of quiet and stillness. We’re always tumbling in and out of hotel conference rooms, itinerant campaign offices, community centers where I have to smile so much, my cheeks hurt. Right now, I can justbeas everyone else is gone. Who knows, I may even get to sneak next door and see if Valentino is home. We haven’t seen each other in so long, but the texts, as sporadic as they are, are keeping the lifeline between us alive.

I’m about to take a sip of coffee when my spine bristles and all the hairs on my body stand on end. My skin is hurting from the smarting; it’s not at all a pleasant feeling. My fingers freeze on the mug, my breath going shallow and coming in small, barely perceptible pants.

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