"There's someone here to see you," the guard says. "Looks like you're being released." He says this as I'm tracing the swollen lumps on my face with the tips of my fingers. I can't fucking believe Carter had the nerve to throw me under the bus in front of all those people—in front of the fucking media! It was downhill after that. Everyone fucking knows that. But did you really think I was going to fucking stand there and take it? No way in fucking hell. I'm just glad I'm getting out of this place. I swear, if one more nut job was going to approach me, I think I was going to lose my shit. Being thrown in jail for a second time wasn't—and still isn't—on my fucking agenda. I have better fucking things to do with my time, like maybe give Carter another fucking piece of my mind.

"Looks like you've had better days." I hear a velvety voice behind me and I turn around, seeing Vivian. Gorgeous Vivian with her blonde hair cascading down her face and shoulders, and her perfect curves highlighted in a small, strappy dress. Fuck, can a woman be any more perfect? Seems unlikely, and like I said, I don't use the word 'perfect' often. I'm glad to see her. I mean it, and not just because she's bailing me out of this fucking place—although that helps. In fact, I've never wanted to see someone so badly in my life. She's exactly what I need to get my mind off of all the shit that transpired over the last fucking day.

"Let's get out of here," she says, motioning us to the door.

"Vivian, my intention wasn't to turn Carter's press conference into a media circus. I hope you know that. I just—"

She stops me mid-sentence, placing one of her delicate fingers across my lips. "You don't need to explain. I know."

Feeling her touch—her skin on mine, sends a jolt down my spine.

"There' a limo waiting for us outside," she says, and sure enough, as soon as the glaring sun of the day hit our eyes, I see the black limo waiting for us by the curb. We both walk over to it, open a back door, and slide into the long leather seat. She tells the driver to take us to her apartment, and he nods approvingly without question.

"Your place?" I ask. I thought maybe she'd want to go straight to the office.

"Oh come on, do you really think you can go back to your office—or even your own apartment right now? You know there will be a frenzy of reporters vying to snap pictures and to get you to explain what happened back there at Carter's press conference. They're out for blood and just like wild animals; they can smell a drop of it a mile away. Liam, you pushed past three security guards and toppled a podium into a crowd of people, remember? Do you really want to have to explain that right now?"

When she says this, my temple throbs. I realize I have a fierce headache, and I know she's right. The press conference was a mess. It didn't look good. I need to lay low, at least for the moment. And looking at Vivian right here and now, the tops of her perfect breasts spilling out of her dress, her perfume and the warmth of her body sitting next to mine—I have a sudden urge to touch her. It may not be the perfect moment, but it's the truth, and going to her apartment seems like the best possible outcome after spending an afternoon in jail.

We arrive at her apartment and I follow her in. It's a nice place with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. The space is clean and modern with hardwood floors. I can hear Vivian's heels clicking as she walks. I look out across the city buildings—some flooded with light, and some dark, some big, and some small, and everything in between—a city filled people going about their lives. What are they thinking? What are they all doing while I sit here with bumps and bruises and a throbbing head—okay, two throbbing heads, but one is in my pants? My reverie is cut short when Vivian turns on her flat screen TV and the local news appears. We both freeze and look at the screen.

"Impeachment hearings in the city against Mayor Liam Jeffries are scheduled to commence today," a reporter says into the camera. "Lawmakers will bring formal charges against the Mayor to determine whether or not he should remain in office. The big question still lingers; has Mayor Jeffries abused his power in office? Has he really sold out the very people he pretends to befriend? Weigh in, and let us know your thoughts on Twitter using the hashtag #ImpeachJeffries."

"I had nothing to do with this," I tell Vivian, shaking my head. "This is ridiculous. It's all lies."

"What you did or didn't do doesn't matter," she says, waving me off with the flick of her wrist. "People will believe what they want to. Let the media turn this whole thing into a spectacle. Let them turn it inside out. But right now, drink this. I'm turning the news off."

I watch Vivian from the edge of her sofa. I sit back, leaning into the leather. She walks over to me and hands me a glass of amber liquid—bourbon with a single over-sized ice cube. It never fails, she always fucking knows exactly what I like. I grab it in one hand and swallow the fiery liquid in a single gulp. It leaves a warm trail in the pit of my stomach and my body relaxes. I look over at Vivian and want nothing more than to wrap my arms around her and pull her into my lap.

"Here's an idea," I say with a smile. "How about I give you a kiss, and no pressure, but if you don't like it, you can just return it. Simple enough, right?"

"Clever," she purrs, sitting next to me on the sofa. With her legs slightly open, I steal a glance at that dark and secret cavern. Her face is now close enough to mine that I could lean in and kiss her. I can feel the electricity of her nearness coursing through my body. I want her, and I want her now. But she pulls back, eyeing me with caution.

"With you facing a possible impeachment, I think I can do better than fraternize with the likes of someone such as yourself," she says. There's a sarcastic and teasing spark in her eyes, and a smile tugging at the corner of her red and glossy lips. Her lips are ripe for the taking, but I decide to play along.

"Is that so?" I ask, looking her up and down, her body posture nearly leaning into mine. My cock is coming to life and struggling against my suit pants.

"You know something?" I ask. " I've got to hand it to you—you sure know how to raise a man's cock. I'm not one to always make accurate weather predictions, but I'd definitely say that you can expect more than just a few inches tonight."

"Well, look who's found himself and his corny lines again," she purrs. "You've always been a cocky one."

"Is it such a bad thing that I want to bend you over this sofa right now?"

"You tell me," she purrs. I watch as her body language tells me a thousand words.

I extend my arm and stroke her blonde hair with my fingertips, and then grasping behind her head, I knot strands of her hair in my hand. With a tug, I pull her head back. Her mouth opens and I lean in, first kissing the corner of her lips, while her hot breath mixes with mine. Our tongues meet, sinking into each other. My lips curl into a smile. This is exactly what I fucking wanted. And now that we're here—like this—nothing else matters. "We shouldn't do this," she whispers, pulling away a few inches from my mouth.

"Who fucking says?" I ask, leaning in closer—so close that my lips are grazing hers again. "If it feels right, that's all that matters." I kiss her again, this time taking her bottom lip in between my teeth, and running fingers down her neck. She places her hands on my cheeks and throws her head back. I smile, kissing the length of her neck until I reach her collarbone. I hear her moan and I can feel her shiver under my touch. I bring my hands down past her shoulders. The heat of her body, and the soft touch of her skin only adds fuel to my desire. I move my hand to her warm thighs. Her legs open under my touch, and I push my fingers against her skin and under the fold of her dress.

"Take me," she purrs, as both of our bodies melt into one of desire.