In a sea of business suits and conservative dresses, Selma Herrington stood out like a sexy sore thumb. She wore skintight leather black pants paired with the same logo tank top as her staff. A red belt accentuated her small waist, and her legs seemed all the longer in her four-inch heels. She wore a retro style bullet bra underneath the top, a look that some modern men probably didn't care for, but that he thought was erotic as hell, a fact proven out by the tightening in his balls, both from the sight of her now and the memory of how she looked last night in nothing but that bra, stockings, and a garter belt.
Her lips were painted fire-engine red and her short hair was spiky now and tipped with pink and green instead of the previous blue.
She looked sexy as hell, wild as a forest fire, and completely out of place.
She was also heading straight for him. A fact that his body fully appreciated. But that made his inner politician cringe.
"Hello, lover," she purred as she approached.
"Christ, Selma, keep your voice down."
"I enjoyed last night."
He swallowed. "So did I."
Her smile was smug. "I know."
"Why are you here?"
Her brows rose, but he wasn't sure if she was offended or amused. "That's my whiskey you're drinking. We're one of the sponsors of the benefit."
"Of course. I wasn't thinking." He drew in a breath, forcing himself not to reach out even as he told himself that starting this arrangement with her was a bad idea. Because clearly he was incapable of being around her without wanting to touch her. "Listen, Selma, I need to mingle. I'm going to be announcing soon, and I should do the meet-and-greet before the speeches start."
"Meet me in the ladies' lounge in fifteen."
He blinked at her. "What?"
She leaned closer and, thankfully, lowered her voice. "I have this feeling that you've never fucked in the ladies room during a party. I assumed it was on your bucket list."
"Selma..."
"I want your cock in my mouth again," she said, and he almost groaned aloud. "Or anywhere else you want to put it."
Oh, dear Lord, he was done for.
"Selma, stop. We had an arrangement. And you know I can't."
She lifted a shoulder. "You'd be amazed how much you can do if you just step outside your box. Your box is pretty tight, Easton. I'm just trying to help you push back those walls." She stepped away, then blew him a kiss. "I'll be there in fifteen. Hopefully you will be, too."
"Don't bet the ranch," he said. But as he looked around the mind numbingly dull party ... as his mind started to imagine the sight of Selma on her knees as he fucked her mouth ...
Oh, God.
He wouldn't go.
He couldn't.
But a small part of him damn sure wanted to.
Chapter Eight
Damn him.
For three full minutes--he'd counted them--Easton had been talking himself in and out of going to that bathroom. What was wrong with him? He didn't usually act so impulsively, and he could only assume that Selma had put a spell on him. She certainly had the power to make him lose his mind.
He thought of last night with her and smiled. Yeah, she definitely held some power.
"Thinking about winning the election?"