Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
It’s hilarious that he’s giving me a hard time about having a fling when this man spent all of his married life to my mother—and maybe his married life to Catherine—fucking anything with a pulse.
I clench my jaw. “I went on vacation because of a video of something that I did when I was a kid.”
“You were seventeen and snorting coke off a random girl’s stomach.”
“Seventeen. Ergo a kid.”
“I had a job when I was seventeen. Not partying and stuffing drugs up my nose.”
“I was hurting over Mom’s death. I made a bad choice. I’m not proud of it.”
“Your mother had been dead for two years at that point. You can’t use her passing as an excuse for everything.”
I feel all the old hurt come rushing back, angering the fuck out of me. “It’s not an excuse, but not everyone could get over her death in point-three seconds after she died, like you,” I hiss.
His jaw clenches. “I mourned your mother.”
I laugh humorlessly. “Yeah, fucking your assistant must’ve really helped you to deal with the grief.”
“Is that why you do this shit? Bring some random girl you picked up on vacation here, just to get back at me for the past?”
“Believe it or not, Mr. President, not everything is about you.”
“Hi … um, I’m really sorry to interrupt.” It’s Dillon, and my eyes close on a sigh. There’s no way that she didn’t hear what he just said. “Catherine, um, I mean, the First Lady got taken away to greet some guests who had just arrived and she asked me if I would send you over,” she says to my dad.
My dad stares at me a beat. “We’ll talk later,” he says to me and then looks at Dillon. “Enjoy your evening.”
Dillon watches him stride away before she looks back at me.
“Any chance you didn’t hear any of that?”
She gives me an awkward smile. “He’s not keen on me, huh? I mean, I get it. It’s fine.”
“This really is a case of it’s not you, it’s me.” I reach out and take hold of her hand, tugging her a little closer. “My father looks at my choices in life not as how they’ll affect me, but how they’ll affect his approval ratings.”
Nothing I’ve ever done—or will do—is good enough for him. It’s always been this way, and it only got worse when he realized that I wouldn’t be going into politics and headed into the NFL instead.
It’s funny. Any other parent would be over the fucking moon that their only son got drafted into the NFL but not my father. He sees it as a disappointment.
She blinks up at me. “Did he really”—she lowers her voice—“do what you said … after your mum died?”
I sigh and nod. I also got the privilege of walking in and seeing him fucking her over his desk. My mother’s body was barely even cold. But then it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He screwed anything with a pulse in all the years that they were married, so her death wasn’t going to slow him down.
“So … your full name is Weston?” She bites down on a smile.
I know she’s changing the subject, trying to lighten the mood, and I could kiss her for it.
“Where did you think West came from?”
“The compass.” Her lip breaks free from her teeth and becomes a grin. “Weston,” she repeats, musing. “Hmm … I like it. I think I’m gonna call you that from now on.”
“Please don’t.”
“Well, seeing as you asked so nicely, like I did all the times I asked you not to call me Double D and you did … then I’m definitely gonna keep calling you Weston, Weston.”
It’s my turn to grin. I move a little closer to her and lower my voice. “Have I told you how utterly fuckable you look tonight?”
Her breath catches. “You might have mentioned it once or twice.”
She’s wearing a full-length red dress, which her tits look amazing in. It has a slit up the leg to her thigh, which gives me easy access, and she has on these gold heels that have straps around the ankles, which make her legs look even longer. Her hair is down and curled, and I’m dying to get my hands in it. Preferably when my cock is either in her mouth or pussy. I’m not fussy; I’ll take whatever I can get from her.
An idea comes to me. “You want a tour?”
She blinks up at me. Just looking at her is making my dick hard. “Of the White House?”
I was thinking more my cock, but we’ll go with that for now.
“Yeah.”
She stares at me for a beat, and then understanding floods her eyes.
Yeah, baby, I want to fuck you right now.
She bites the corner of her lip. Her breathing gets a little faster. “Okay,” she says softly.