"Maxwell Crighten?"
Her stomach fluttered hearing the name. A mix of adrenaline and a bit of nerves pumped through her veins. She'd been waiting for them to catch on.
She kept her head down, nose buried in a folder, as they crossed the Oval to her desk.
"You know for the most intelligent woman I know you really are fucking stupid," Jay said before he slammed his hand down next to a stack of documents. Underneath his palm was a glossy black and white photograph.
Her head lifted and she cocked an eyebrow before her eyes fell back to the briefing.
"Doesn't ring a bell?" Jay asked. She could hear him shrug. "Okay," he mumbled as he leaned forward and set a tape recorder next to her tumbler of scotch. He hit play before straightening up.
She could feel him watching her face.
One moaned name later and she half stood from her chair so she could reach and hit the pause button.
There were sensors lined in each doorway, and although Secret Service didn't like to admit it, the Residence was wired too. The audio was easy to get depending on who you are… She knew that.
"Where'd you get the picture?" She asked, sinking back into her chair. That she hadn't planned.
"Max's phone," Jay answered.
Even better.
And here came the performance.
"I— I should talk to him." She faked concern. She tried to sound serious as she went for the doe-eyed look.
Jay shook his head. "You'll never be seeing Max again." He took a step closer, glancing to the floor as he did. "In fact, no one in DC will."
She bit down on her cheek to hide the smirk.
"I didn't think Max was your type." And finally, there came his voice.
He wasn't. But he gave her the attention she wanted. Plus, he was easy to manipulate. Young. Falling over his own feet. Trying to be the attentive aide all while staring down her blouse when given the chance. Given, because she controlled everything and everyone around her… To an extent.
She knew her way to easy. "Is it so hard to believe that I like someone other than you?"
Here came the fun part.
The tips of his fingers fell to the edge of the desk. "You're twice his age."
She could see the fire burning behind his eyes. "Do you really want to bring up age?"
His lips parted and she had to laugh at him.
He pointed a finger at her chest. "Do I need to get Henry because I think he'll have plenty to say about this?"
It was an empty threat. She knew that. He knew that too— Henry was busy screwing his own assistant.
She stared into his eyes, and he stared back, almost challenging her in a way.
"Jay." His voice was low. He leaned forward on his palms. "Give us ten minutes." Not an ask, but an order, because although she was the one who controlled most, there had to be one person who dangled her carrot. And he so happened to be that person.
"Fine," Jay huffed. He was getting tired of her games. "But—" He mumbled as he pointed up to the ceiling. He always seemed to be reminding them of the camera above.
He stared at her until he heard the click of the door.
His eyes pulled from hers, and— "Am I boring you?"
She kept still as he slowly rounded the desk.
No, he wasn't boring her. He was busy.
"No," she breathed as he passed behind her chair. Her head turned with him.
He stopped, leaning his ass back against her desk. He crossed his arms, and— "I never thought I'd have to listen to a tape of you getting off with a White House aide."
He pushed up, and her eyes followed him until he disappeared behind her. "I wasn't getting off," she admitted.
"Oh?" She imagined the way his eyebrows raised. "How was he?" He's at her ear now. She can feel his breath against her neck.
She felt herself shiver. "Gentle," she told him.
"Is that what you want? Gentle?" A hand tangled in her hair. His fingers pulled at a strand before brushing away pieces to expose her neck.
"No," she muttered.
"You want it hard," he whispered. "Max didn't give it to you the way you like, hm?" His palms found her shoulders as he leaned in. "Henry never did either." She looked to the side, catching his gaze. "His mistake. Maybe if he gave you what you wanted you wouldn't have started fucking me in the first place."
She couldn't keep her lips from parting. And good god his hands felt so good.
He cocked an eyebrow.
"Kiss me," she whispered.
He leaned in, leaving their lips only a breath away. "How come I wasn't enough?" He pulled away. He was teasing now.
"You are," she said quietly.
He stepped back and spun her chair around. "Was I not giving you enough attention?"
She stared up into his eyes. "No." He hadn't. He'd been busy.
He pulled her up and before she knew what was happening, he had her chin gripped tightly in his right hand.
"Was I not fucking you hard enough?"
When she didn't respond his hand slid down to wrap around her neck.
"Answer me," he mumbled.
"No," she moaned. It was a lie, but it would light a fire.
"No?" He questioned, stepping in. They were left toe to toe. His fingers squeezed, and the pad of his thumb pushed down on the base of her throat.
"Blake," she whined.
He got a hold of her hair, and yanked down, exposing her skin.
"Camera," she mumbled. This was quickly moving past PG.
His hands slid to her waist, and he pulled her to his chest, stepping back into one of the blind spots.
"You want attention. You come to me." His fingers dug into her hips. "You want sex. You come to me."
She held back her smile.
"Don't think I don't see that smirk," he said before bringing his lips down hard against hers. Their tongues tangling, and he licked into her mouth until he pulled away for air.
"I don't like sharing Elizabeth. You know that." He bit at her neck, teeth scraping, lips sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
She knew that. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Her fingers carded through his hair as she held his head there.
"He barely lasted five minutes," she told him. He was young. He was horny. He got off on the idea of sleeping with the most powerful person in the world.
She cupped him through his pants before her fingers went up to his zipper.
His lips left her skin. "Ah," he breathed. And before she could get her hands on his belt buckle, he turned her, pushing her against the wall.
Max had nothing on his stamina.
"You need it to last long?" His hands swept up her hips, bunching her skirt up as they went.
"Yes," she breathed, though tonight she didn't think she needed it to.
She heard the sound of metal and a swish of fabric. And then his fingers were pressing against her through the lace of her underwear.
"Fuck," she cursed. She was more wound up than she'd realized. Her palms pressed against the wall, and she bowed her head in the space between her arms.
"Did he give you an orgasm?"
And there's the word give again. He acted as if she couldn't take care of herself… Couldn't manage getting herself off.
"No," she whined as his fingers circled her clit through the material.
He leaned in, pressing himself momentarily against her back. She didn't miss the bulge pushing into her ass.
His hand wrapped around her hair, pulling her head towards him. "Tell me what you want." His teeth scraped over the shell of her ear before they nipped at her ear lobe.
She felt like she was swaying in her heels.
"I want—" She trailed off. She could feel him all over.
"Tell me," he told her.
She was quiet. Her chest heaved as heat rose in her cheeks.
"Oh." He could hear his smirk.
His hand left her hair, and her head fell forward again.
"You want dirty," he whispered.
He pulled her panties to the side, not even bothering to take them off completely, and sunk two fingers into her, pumping three times, before he pulled them away. "I can do dirty," he said before he began fingering her ass.
"God, Blake." She was on the verge of screaming.
"Don't you dare scream," he gritted.
Her fingers curled into the wall.
His hand left her hip, and she cursed him for taking away that leverage, but she was gasping a moment later when he slammed himself inside of her.
They ignored the ringing of the phone which was sure to be Jay calling to say that their ten minutes were up and if they wanted to continue, they needed to find a better place to fuck than the West Wing.
Her legs felt like she wouldn't walk tomorrow, and she was sure to be sore. She smiled as she pulled him up the back staircase later that night, hoping for the possibility of another round. And she wasn't one to be grateful, but she found herself sending a thank you to Maxwell Crighten in whichever small town he was sent off to live out his years.