9. The Declaration of Independence

DARREN

We step inside and as spectacular as it is, there's something about her in this room that rivals the Faulkner murals that grace the rounded walls of the rotunda.

"Fifteen minutes for what?" she inquires.

"The museum is closed for a private event," I explain, and looks around as if she's just now noticing how empty the rotunda is. "We have fifteen minutes before Bernie has to kick us out." I hook my thumb in the direction of the security guard who stands in front of the private entrance we just came from. His back is turned, giving us privacy.

"Bernie, huh?" Her voice is laced with amusement.

"Yes." I walk tentatively beside her with my hands clasped behind my back as she makes her way to the display.

It is the magnitude, and the notoriety of the document that draws out this trepidation inside of me, and I feel it in Evangeline too as we slowly walk across the room, stopping just short of being able to peer in.

She looks around the room and I can see how this could be intimidating, but even more so are Bethany and Audrina in the same room together.

"You don't have to be part of the foundation."

"I want to," she says quickly.

"I know Audrina especially can be a bit much."

"They both care about you a lot." We stand face to face. Her expression holds a secret I wish I was privy to.

"They were my mother's oldest friends," I explain. "Hopefully they were nice to you."

"That's why you didn't give Audrina my number, isn't it? You were afraid they'd call me a gold digger and chase me off?"

"Please tell me they did not do that," I plead, embarrassed.

She shakes her head. "I've been called worse," she says too easily. I have been guilty of doing just that.

She turns away from me and peers into the display case while I dutifully hold her jacket.

Her fingers skim over the glass as if applying any more pressure would break it. "Is this real?" she questions nervously.

"Do you think they would put out a fake?" I ask with amusement.

"It wouldn't be the first time our government lied to us," she says cheekily. "But aren't they worried about something happening to it? Wouldn't they want to store it away to keep it safe?"

I step forward to meet her, but instead of looking at the document, my eyes stay trained on her. "It belongs to the people, not the National Archives Museum or the government for that matter. Besides, it's well protected." I tilt my head toward Bernie who still has his back to us, but no doubt an ear tuned in our direction.

"The day after the attack on Pearl Harbor, it was packed up and sent to Fort Knox, along with the Constitution and the Magna Carta."

"My own personal tour guide?" She peers back down into the glass case.

"If you're interested…"

"I am," she says eagerly, cutting me off.

"This isn't the only copy," I point out, and that piques her interest. "There were approximately two hundred of them printed, but only twenty-six are still in existence today, three of which are privately owned." I scratch the back of my head and she looks at me with interest.

"I can't imagine having something like that in my home, no matter how much money I had."

"They're called Dunlap Broadsides. Back then they were hand printed, meaning every single letter was a wooden piece that had to be handset. So, on some of the prints, there were punctuation marks missing, and even whole words. Each one is different." I realize that I'm talking way too much because she's staring at me, so I stop.

"What?" I prod nervously.

"This is your Emerson, isn't it?" she contemplates.

I peer into the case, noticing how the original ink is so faded you can barely make out the words, but I don't need to see them on a piece of paper because they are ingrained in my mind. "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness," I recite with my eyes trained on her the whole time. "If that is not poetry, then I don't know what is."

"You make it sound so beautiful."

"Each man that signed this document did so with a fear for his life, so yes, there is beauty and courage in one's conviction for doing something difficult, and at the time, very unpopular."

"You really love history," she observes.

"Not just history, but specifically this because it is the catalyst for the U.S. Constitution which is the very basis for law, and by extension, the protection of," I explain hastily. "I've seen it many times, from childhood field trips to a curious adult, and the emotions it evokes never lessens." I dare to look at her for fear that I've rambled too much and possibly bored her.

"And yet, you're not a lawyer," she counters. "I would think that if you're so moved by it, you would be able to set aside your pride to protect it."

"My pride?"

"Isn't that what you said earlier?" she reminds me. "You take what you want."

"Pride can either make you soar or ground you." I have been grounded so long that I don't remember what it feels like to fly. "If I tried and failed, then what?"

She shrugs which isn't an agreement, nor is it a contradiction, and I think it's her indifference that makes me pull at the collar of my shirt.

"If you don't try, then you'll never know."

When she bends over to look inside the case, I swear she does it on purpose because she knows that her skirt lifts enough to reveal the crease of her ass that I was so fixated on earlier in the reading room. It's not just the soft roundness of exposed flesh that I see, it's the hint of a G-string underneath that sets my pulse racing, the tiny strand of black cotton threaded through her ass cheeks.

I know it's deliberate when she looks back at me, strands of her long blonde hair caressing the glass that holds the most important piece of our nation"s history, and I don't care that she's taunting me.

"Evangeline," I grit out a warning and that defiant, taunting smile of hers will be the death of me. "Do you want me to go to jail for public indecency?" I warn through gritted teeth.

She straightens, looking at me with those not so innocent eyes and says, "I doubt it would be the first time."

I stand next to her, my fingers discretely inching their way up the back of her thigh and under her skirt to feel the warm, soft roundness of her ass, and she invites me in by parting her legs further. I run my finger along the slit of her cunt, feeling the wetness that is already starting to pool against the thin fabric of her panties. I groan in response.

"You're right, but the first time wouldn't be as worth it as this."

"You'll have to tell me the story," she whispers, and then rewards me with a small moan as I cup her pussy, one finger pressing firmly on the bud of her clit.

I lean in close, looking down at her, my eyes traveling over her parted lips. "Perhaps if you're a good girl, I will."

"Darren Walker," she slides her hand over my growing cock, and even through the fabric of my jeans it is tantalizing enough to cause my balls to draw tight and my stomach to quiver. "We only have fifteen minutes, and I think we've taken up about ten of those."

"That sounds like a challenge," I rasp. "Do you doubt that I could make you come in under five?" I challenge, draping the trench coat around her shoulders. The feel of her trembling thigh against the back of my hand makes me want to bend her over right here.

"Perhaps if we're quiet, I'd let you fuck me right here," she taunts, her fingers skimming over glass that holds the Declaration of Independence. "Bernie looks to be hard of hearing," she teases.

"Silent is not how I fuck," I whisper in her ear as I slip my fingers under her skirt again.

The sound of her broken breath is enough to make me come in my pants, especially feeling the flimsy, soaked fabric of her panties, and every wet fold of her layers underneath. She leans into me, resting her forehead to my chest, short breaths escaping her lips and her fingers curling around the hem of my shirt. I wish I could set her down on the display, part her thighs, and kneel before her so I could sink my tongue into her bare, wet cunt.

The indecent thoughts fuel my need to make her come, to hear her whimper and beg against my chest. I increase the pressure of my thumb on her clit, and I know I've hit the right spot when the trembling of her thighs intensifies.

"Darren," she whispers in a panic, her earlier bravado fading. Her voice is broken and faded, much like the document that sits underneath the glass mere inches from where we stand. "I can't…" she begs breathlessly, peering over my shoulder.

"This is what you wanted," I whisper in her ear while she begins to fall apart. "This is why you wore this skirt and those panties, to tempt me," I remind her gruffly.

It's not just her short skirt or her cunt gripping my fingers, it's her pouty lips, and her moans that sound like church bells that make me a deviant; the kind of man who prays at the altar of the Constitution, and yet, here I am, defiling one of America's greatest documents because of her.

I grip the back of her neck, pulling her closer, letting her lean against me as her body wilts heavily with desire. "So, you can, and you will, Queenie," I rasp just before I pull her mouth to mine, capturing her cries as her orgasm crests, right before the iron gates are unlocked and a group of patrons are let into the rotunda.

To them, we might look like a pair of lovers overcome with emotion, slouched together and murmuring whispered sentiments about viewing the document instead of a desperate man who just gave his wife an orgasm in under five minutes.

Evangeline's eyes flutter open a fraction as the group nears us. She watches as I inhale her scent on my finger, wishing I could taste her. She presses her skirt back down and I close the gap of her trench coat, securing the belt like a doting husband. I smile at the unsuspecting group as I take Evangeline's hand and lead her outside to the steps where Bailey is waiting at the curb with the car. I haven't gone down a flight of stairs this fast since I was a child, and the minute we're safely tucked into the back of the sedan with the privacy window up, I turn to Evangeline and say, "Now, be a good wife and sit on my face."