Daddy In Charge Page 10

  And God, how I wanted her!

  Chapter 16

  Mitch

  The Aeroflot hostess was waiting in the door of the aircraft when Connie and I came to the end of the companionway dragging our carry-on luggage. The woman checked our boarding passes with a polite, immaculate smile and guided us towards the first-class compartment. The seats were luxurious, the appointments all that anyone would expect. I offered Connie the window-seat and we settled down for the ten-hour flight.

  “Are you going to miss Moscow?” I asked casually.

  Connie shook her head, her eyes fraught and clouded. “No.”

  I feigned surprise. “Oh? I thought you would have seen this as a great adventure; flying into Russia and being part of such an important trade negotiation.”

  She pursed her lips. “It was certainly educational. I learned a lot,” she said with a double-edged meaning that I recognized but chose blandly to ignore.

  “But…?” I encouraged her to go on. “Did you regret not spending more time in the city? I guess girls your age spend all their time at nightclubs.”

  Connie went very pale and very still. I saw the turmoil of shadows move behind her eyes. She swallowed hard. “I’m not one for dancing and loud music,” she said weakly.

  I smiled and nodded as though the exchange had been nothing but harmless banter. “Well, you will be happy to know that our time in Moscow was not wasted,” I leaned across the space that separated us and whispered quietly. “When I get back to Washington, I’m going to meet with the President, the Trade guys and probably the Sec State. I’m going to recommend the deal goes ahead.”

  Connie looked shocked. “But I thought we were flying out today because the trade deal was being abandoned.”

  “It was,” I agreed. “But something changed last night. It was an eleventh-hour development I hadn’t expected. It’s opened the door for honest lines of communication between us and our Russian counterparts.”

  “So the mission was a success?”

  “Yes.”

  Connie looked genuinely pleased although the smile on her face was clouded by some darker lingering trouble. “Congratulations,” she offered.

  “Credit goes to you also,” I said generously. “You played your part…”

  She looked to say more but the rumble of the big jet engines rose suddenly into the screaming whine that preceded takeoff.

  We sat silent in our seats and felt the aircraft gather speed along the runway, followed by the gut-swooping lift as she clawed powerfully into the air.

  We were on our way home and flying towards an uncertain future.

  I glanced sideways at Connie after the plane had reached its cruising height and the view through the windows showed nothing but a gray wall of clouds.

  She seemed completely unaware of my scrutiny, gazing fixedly ahead, so complete was her preoccupation, and I wondered what she was thinking about – what dark troubled concerns lurked in the dark corners of her mind. She was not herself; the trauma of all that occurred the night before had left an indelible mark on her.

  At last she caught me staring at her from the corner of her eye. She turned her head and smiled wanly. She seemed listless with fatigue.

  Connie set her seat back, refused a drink from the hostess, and fell quickly into a deep restless sleep. Perhaps it was her way of dealing with the anxiety of flight, or maybe it was the cumulative exhaustion and emotional trauma of the last twenty-four hours.

  I turned my attention to the details of the trade negotiation, but my mind would not focus. Inadvertently I found my gaze sneaking back to where Connie lay reclined.

  She was wearing a powder blue sweater and a pair of jeans. She lay on her back, her body twisted slightly towards me with her arms by her side. One of her knees was slightly lifted and my eyes wandered over her body. Her breasts beneath the knitted sweater were generous but not large, and her figure was finely tapered. The bottom of the sweater had lifted as she slept so I could see an inch or two of her bare midriff. The skin there was glossy and firm with the luster of her youth. Her jeans were tight stretched denim that wrapped her legs and showed off the slenderness of her thighs right up to the folds and creases that outlined her pussy.

  I looked guiltily away, but the appeal of her was irresistible. Connie’s lips were slightly parted, her hair a soft tumble that framed her perfect face. She wore no makeup so that her lips were pale pink and natural. I closed my eyes and screwed up my resolve.

  Flying at 35,000 feet, somewhere over the ocean, I finally made up my mind.

  My laptop was in my carry bag. I typed an email and then let my finger hover over the ‘send’ button for a moment of indecision.

  Connie stirred but didn’t wake. Instead she rolled her body to a more comfortable position and I saw the way her breasts moved. In her sleep, her nipples had hardened, pushing little jutting mounds through the fabric of her top. Her left leg had edged a little higher. I fantasized about her knees falling wide open and my mouth trailing a line of kisses towards the top of her thighs.

  Send!

  I stabbed the keyboard impulsively.

  The decision was made.

  Then the remorse assailed me.

  Connie

  I craved sleep – sweet release from all the worry and fear and panic that hung over me like a storm cloud. My body ached and my nerves were frayed so that when Mitch turned to me in his seat and asked me about nightclubbing, my first mortified instinct was to tense suspiciously.

  Had he somehow found out how I had shamed myself?

  I searched his eyes but there seemed no trace of bitter recrimination, and no suggestion of spite.

  I nodded, said something inane, and then the lids of my eyes drew down like a leaden curtain. As dark bliss washed over me, I dreamed a dream.

  “I want to fuck you,” Mitch’s voice was rough as he swaggered to my desk and stood before me with his hands on his hips.

  I licked my lips in a coy and provocative tease. “Right here?” my voice was husky.

  “Yes, dammit!” he growled.

  He reached over the desk and pulled me out of my chair. His hands were demanding, his grip made fierce by his desire. As he brought me to my feet, he saw suddenly that I had come to work dressed in the same schoolgirl clothes I had worn on the nightclub stage. His eyes prowled hungrily over my breasts, then past the knot of the blouse to the short pleats of my skirt. He made an animal sound of lust in the back of his throat and I went to him willingly.

  He bent me over the desk and lifted the skirt. My panties were soaked. I felt his fingers, cunning and skilled, as they pushed the fabric between the folds of my pussy. He was breathing hoarsely and I was panting to match the racing beat of my heart. I felt him come over the top of me, pressing me down against the desk and his voice in my ear was fierce and impatient.

  “You’re Daddy’s little girl, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Daddy!” I moaned. “Oh, God, yes!”

  The weight of his chest lifted and then I felt the rub of his palm across the tensed cheeks of my ass. He cupped his hand and spanked me – one, twice, and I flinched at his touch.

  I was making soft mewling sounds of desire. I could feel the wet lace rucked between my legs and the friction of the coarse fabric was maddening. I squirmed my thighs together.

  He took me by the shoulder and spun me around. I sank to my knees instinctively. He had his zip undone and his beautiful cock was hard in his hand. My mouth fell open and I craned my neck forward to capture him between the clamp of my lips.

  Mitch sighed. His jaw was clenched. “Suck me, American bitch,” his voice was strangely accented. “You can’t go to school today unless you pay the admission price.”

  I took him deep down my throat. He was hard as an iron bar, hot and pulsing on my tongue. I opened my eyes and a single tear of exquisite pleasure slipped down my cheek.

  Mitch seemed to swell and thicken as I taunted him with my mouth. I fumbled the knot of my blouse undone a
nd my breasts spilled free. My nipples were hard. I reached up with one hand to gently cup his heavy balls and the new sensation mingled with the tug of my lips to push him over the edge.

  He grunted as he came, splashing the inside of my mouth with hot cum. I swallowed hungrily and then kept gently sucking until he went soft, and the blazing light of his lust dimmed from his eyes.

  Mitch stepped away from me, and I rose to my feet. I made a great show of greedily licking my lips. “Did you like that, Daddy?”

  “Yes,” his voice was hoarse, as if he had run a long way.

  He backed me up against the desk and arrogantly thrust his hand beneath the pleats of my skirt. I opened my legs wider for him and felt his palm cup the wedge of my pussy.

  “How does your baby girl’s pussy feel?” I whispered breathlessly. I was clinging to his shoulder, urging his hand to move faster, to press harder.

  Mitch gasped and passion reignited like fire in his eyes.

  “This American pussy is so smooooth,” he said.

  I woke with a frightening start, a cry of incredulous shock in my mouth. I reeled for an instant, not knowing where I was. Panic swelled hot in my chest… and then I saw Mitch sitting quietly in his seat, saw the other first-class passengers dozing or reading magazines.

  I let out a long shuddering breath and sat up. My clothes were wrenched askew. My hands shook with little tremors.

  Mitch was looking at me, his brow furrowed with a hint of concern.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded and tugged at my sweater. It suddenly seemed tight as a noose around my neck. “It was just a dream.”

  Mitch nodded. “Pay attention to what you saw,” he advised sagely. “Dreams are supposed to be a window to our deepest, darkest desires.”

  Fuck!

  Chapter 17

  Mitch

  Because of the time zone differences, we arrived at Dulles Airport late in the afternoon. The sky was bleak through the huge glass windows of the terminal. I felt rumpled and weary.

  There was a government car and driver waiting for us. Connie gave the man her home address and we sat in silence for the journey.

  When the driver pulled to the curb outside a rundown apartment complex, Connie slid across the seat to get out of the car and I joined her on the busy sidewalk.

  She looked puzzled. She had her carry bag clutched in her hand and a coat draped over one arm. She dropped the bag and stared uncertainly at me.

  “Take this week off work,” I began, loathing myself so that the words were raw in my throat. “Rest. Relax. Catch up on sleep. Next Monday morning I want you to report to Congressman Walter Turnbull. He’s a Texan, and you’ll be working with his Washington office staff from now on.”

  Connie’s eyes flashed alarm and confusion.

  “What?” she was shaking her head slowly. None of what I said was making sense to her.

  I’m very strongly attracted to you.

  “I’ve arranged a transfer for you. I received the email confirming your new position while we were flying back from Moscow.”

  “Transferring?”

  I don’t know any other way to get you out of my mind.

  “Yes. You no longer work for me.”

  “But why?”

  The shock on her face appalled me. Glistening tears welled along the lower lids of her eyes and then ran down her pale cheeks.

  I’m too weak. I want you too much. This is the only way!

  I shrugged. “Now that the trade agreement with the Russians has been finalized, all that’s left is the paperwork and the ratification of the terms. I’ll be moving on to other projects…”

  “You don’t want me working with you into the future? Did I do something wrong, Mitch? Were you unhappy with my performance?”

  I shook my head. “Your work was outstanding,” I said stiffly. “And I will write a recommendation for you. Come to my office next Friday afternoon. I’ll have your severance pay and everything else prepared.”

  I turned on my heel and strode stiffly back to the car. The driver pulled away from the corner and in the rearview mirror I caught a fleeting final glimpse of Connie’s shoulders heaving as she stood on the sidewalk and began to cry.

  Connie

  But, Mitch. I love you!

  It was my last pathetic thought, screamed from the corners of my mind, as the car turned at traffic lights and disappeared into the darkening dusk.

  I felt myself begin to cry and I couldn’t stop.

  Waves of numbed dismay swept over me. The depth of despair left me desolated. In less than twenty-four hours I had lost everything; my pride, my dignity, and now the man that I secretly adored and craved.

  The devastation of my life was complete.

  Chapter 18

  Connie

  I cried through the night, curled up in the fetal position on my bed, until sunrise came and at last I had no more tears left to shed.

  In the morning, I dragged myself to the phone and acted out a charade to call my grandmother in Galveston. We chatted for almost an hour as I went over the trip to Moscow and how exciting it had been to see a new part of the world. Nana’s tone was subdued too – but we’re both so skilled at hiding our feelings and shielding each other from the pain of our truths that a casual observer would never have guessed at the financial stress she was enduring, or the horrendous nightmare my own life had become.

  It was a relief to hang up. I was emotionally exhausted. I felt listless and empty. There was an ache in my heart that felt like an open wound. I caught myself beginning to sob again and choked back the tears on a bottle of cheap wine I had in the refrigerator.

  How did this happen?

  How could my entire life have been forever changed in less than a day?

  I replayed Mitch’s parting words in my mind for the thousandth time and saw again the hardness in his eyes as he had spoken.

  Had he found out about what happened in the Russian nightclub?

  Is that why he transferred me? Does he loathe me so much that he can’t stand the sight of me and wanted me gone?

  But nothing had really happened!

  Nothing had happened only because those two men had bundled you into a car before the police raided the place. If they hadn’t burst into the room, you would have whored your body to some Russian stranger and been forever tainted by the disgrace of it.

  The fear that the truth would eventually be revealed about that seedy night haunted me, and I guessed it would continue to gnaw at my conscience for the rest of my days. I had come so close to subjecting myself to the kind of degradation that would have scarred me for life.

  And yet, even though I’d been prepared to pay that price in order to save my grandmother’s bookstore, I had achieved only to humiliate myself for nothing.

  Was it all some perverse coincidence? Was Mitch telling the simple truth about the transfer… could it be just a quirk of circumstance?

  Are the millstones of my shame and guilt fucking with my mind, giving the work transfer some darker sinister motive that doesn’t exist?

  How would I ever know?

  Working for a Texas senator was a long way from sharing adjoining offices with Mitch. I’d never see him. Never again would I be able to steal secret glances of him and fuel the fantasies of my desire. Never again would I hear his voice, smell the man-smell of him or dream about him making love to me.

  I was mildly surprised to realize that it was already late afternoon. Long shadows stretched across the floor of my little apartment. I hadn’t eaten, but I wasn’t hungry. I hadn’t even changed clothes from the ones I had worn on the plane from Moscow.

  I snatched up my coat and trudged downstairs. There was a liquor shop on the next corner. I needed to numb this crushing pain.

  I drank a lot and I cried a lot. For days I never left the apartment except to walk to the liquor store. I called my grandmother early each morning because it was the only time I was semi-sober, and then I spent the rest of the long days
and nights anesthetized by alcohol.

  And still the agony that was my heartbreak persisted.

  On Wednesday night I showered for the first time since I’d returned to Washington and under the soaking hot spray I wept away the last of my sadness.

  Then I became bitter.

  And angry.

  I raged about the apartment, screaming and shouting like I was insane. I snatched up my phone, shaking with fury and dialed Mitch’s number… only to cut off the call an instant before he answered.

  I was angry at him.

  I was furious at myself.

  I hated the world for everything it had done to me.

  I dialed Nikolai’s Russian cell phone number but the call would not connect. In a fit of impotent frustration I threw the phone in the trash can.

  I had no way to vent, no outlet to resolve my feelings, and so I drew the fury close to me like a burning flame, and as Friday afternoon approached I harnessed my seething hatred, letting it slowly gain intensity until it seethed in my stomach and simmered behind my eyes.

  Only then did I dress and make the journey to Mitch’s White House office.

  Mitch

  I sat on the edge of the plush upholstered sofa with my hands clasped, leaning forward to make my point.

  On a similar sofa beyond a coffee table that divided us, sat the President. He was relaxed, the button of his coat undone, one arm thrown out along the sofa’s armrest.

  “So,” he began, with just the faintest hint of a smile. “You did it.”

  I nodded. “This man Volostok is the perfect back-channel to the Russian President,” I said confidently. “He’s the man you were looking for, sir. He has integrity, he’s loyal to his government, he’s committed to the Russian cause before his own ambitions… and we can trust him.”