Page 2 of Where Angels Fall

My cheeks ache as my lips twist into a pleasant smile, and he stands to kiss my cheek, hand finding my waist instantly. As usual, his lips come inappropriately close to mine, and his hand slides down.

Waving over our server, I ask for a wine and take a big sip as soon as it lands on our table, praying that the alcohol will soothe the itchiness of my skin. Being in the presence of a man like Malcolm Hargrove will do that to you. Make you feel so dirty that you need a scorching shower to scrub your skin, just because he laid eyes on you.

“Maddison Dally,” he purrs, sipping his scotch. “What a sight for sore eyes.”

We are seated much too close for people having a business dinner. About charity, of all things. I would laugh if I had the energy.

His hand drops casually to my thigh, just below the hem of my skirt.

“Senator,” I smile, hoping it’s meeting my eyes. “I was thrilled when I heard you wanted to meet.” I bite my lip nervously.

He smiles at that, eyes locking on the movement. Such a simple, predictable, stupid man.

“Mhm, I had some ideas I needed to run by you, and they simply couldn’t wait.” His voice is turning gravelly; his fingertips digging into my thighs. Biting my tongue to control the overpowering need to roll my eyes, I nod as he goes on. “You see, I’ve had a minor problem come up, and I’d like to throw an event with you to…overshadow said problem.” His coy words don’t fool me. I know what said problem he is referring to. The affair with his 21-year-old secretary spread because he was too idiotic to lock his office door. How utterly cliché. “Your father assured me I could call on you for…anything I might need…”

His double entendre doesn’t miss me. Because I’ve been in this situation more times than I can count.

My father was disappointed when I was born a girl, not a boy. Wanting someone to meld into a mini version of him, to follow in his footsteps. But he made do with what he had…And now I think he is quite pleased to have had a daughter. A pretty one that can offer a lot more than just a business deal, if you get what I’m talking about.

Malcolm’s hand slides further up my skirt, slow and teasing. I almost want to scream at him to stop playing around and get it done, but that would ruin his fun. Guys like Senator Hargrove like to play with their food. If I just gave him what he wanted, he wouldn’t enjoy it. He needs to feel like he is taking it, forcing it, in complete and utter control.

“I’d be happy to assist with your…situation, Senator Hargrove. We could organise a high-profile event with a strong media focus to shift attention from the other matter. I’m confident the public would respond far more favourable to the image of a senator supporting children in need or the domestic violence shelter.”

Dally Enterprises has a list of charities they work with, from which I can pick and choose when hosting these events. It’s the only part of my job that breathes life back into me. Knowing that we are doing some good, even if it’s in the name of scrubbing filthy reputations clean.

If I must endure the Malcom’s of the world to ensure millions of dollars, billions even, get distributed to people in need, then it’s all worth it.

It’s extremely hard to talk business, as his fingertips find their mark, grazing over the lace of my panties, as he nods along as if he is interested. All he cares about is that I clear his name, which I am known to be great at doing. When I gasp in faux shock, his lips twist into a cruel smirk.

“You do such a good job, Maddison,” he murmurs, continuing talking to me as if his fingers weren’t grazing my clit through the material. “I knew I could count on you.”

My lashes flutter as I stare at him over my wineglass. He’s almost handsome, with brown hair neatly styled and a crisp suit. His features are sharp, and it’s clear to see he holds a modicum of charm that has obviously worked during his lifetime.

But his eyes give him away. There is nothing behind them but emptiness. A dead, unblinking hunger.

It makes me shiver, but he mistakes it for need.

“Of course, Mr Hargrove,” I reply shyly. “It’s in all our best interests to make this go away.”

He nods as if he is listening. Greedy fingers pull back my panties, my legs opening on reflex as he plunges two thick fingers straight in. I guess he is done with the business talk…Lasted a whole three minutes.

His fingers pump in and out of me, and he growls as my pussy dampens. I can’t help it; it is a natural bodily reaction after all. As much as moments like this, basically being whored out by my father, cements my heart to stone bit by bit…my body likes sex. What can I say?

The Senator leans close, his hot breath dusting my neck. “What a tight, young cunt you have,” he grunts, his thrusting growing increasingly aggressive. I think I could come if he went for longer, but as usual with my meetings with Malcolm, he gets worked up and pushes me to the ground under the table. Like I said, so utterly predictable.

He’s already thrusting into my hands as I fumble with his buckles, pulling the expensive fabric of his pants just low enough for his cock to fall out. Wasting no time, he grips my hair and pushes my face into his crotch.

Grateful that the man is not well-endowed, my mouth takes him easily. Practiced moans slip out of me, noises that make it seem like I’m actually enjoying what is happening. It doesn’t take long for his thrusts to lose rhythm and his jagged moans to slip out. I prepare myself for the worst part. The part that leaves a foul taste in my mouth, like a lingering memory I must carry around with me, even after I brush my teeth ten times.

I swallow down his orgasm, my body feeling distant. Like I could float away and leave my body here on the ground if I’m not careful.

Straightening on my shiny heels, I watch him tuck his softening cock back into his pants before he quickly stands.

“Always a pleasure meeting with you, Maddison,” he winks, reaching into his pocket and throwing a wad of cash on the table. “September twelfth. A month from now, I want it done. I can’t wait any longer,” he leaves, smacking my butt hard on his way out without another word. Charming.

I fall back against my seat, taking my first real breath of the day. It feels heavy, like a weight pressing against my chest. Opening my phone, I check my makeup, finger-swiping my lip to clean the smeared lipstick and then the mascara that has started to run down my cheeks. I’m tempted to call the waitress over and ask for another wine... or four.

But I don’t. Because I’ll just be greeted by more Malcolms, dressed in their perfect suits and polished shoes. With greed and power in their inebriated eyes. I just don’t think I can stomach it right now. It’s the end of the week, and I think I’ve officially hit my limit.