1. Spencer Brady

CHAPTER 1

SPENCER brADY

"Is this correct? This can't be accurate. Ladies and gentlemen, bear with me while I verify breaking information." The news anchor's mumbling was picked up by the microphone in his hand as he conferred with the production assistant handing him a tablet. Finally, he glanced at the camera, seeming to have gathered himself—or remembering he was broadcasting live—and cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I've been informed that NBS is projecting the winner of the Senate election in Virginia to be…" Blaire Conner hesitated, as if he was afraid to say the results out loud.

The room went quiet as everyone waited on tenterhooks for the next words out of the reporter's mouth—words I dreaded to hear as much as he likely didn't want to say them.

I was seated in the formal living room in one of the navy wingback chairs, it's mate now empty after my wife left the room. I, too, was anxious to learn what the Fates had in store for us; however, I wasn't exactly thrilled the news would be delivered to the world at large at the same time I was learning it.

Our home in Great Falls, Virginia, was filled with my campaign staff, office staff, friends, supporters, and lastly, my small family, though my son had refused to come downstairs to listen to the returns. To say it had been a bad year for me was a vast understatement.

It was never a good sign when the incumbent became immersed in scandal so close to an election. In my case, I was literally caught with my pants down three months earlier. My weak defense was that I still couldn't figure out how it happened.

I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, fingers quivering as much as my own. I glanced up to see my long-suffering wife with a pained look on her weary face. Standing, I led her back to the kitchen where she'd originally gone to make coffee and probably gather herself, while the world as we knew it tilted on its axis.

We'd learn the election results from the sounds emanating from the living room anyway, so there was no need to risk someone in my circle of acquaintances taking pictures of us at a vulnerable moment and releasing them to the media. We'd been in the spotlight more than anyone needed to be. I was done with it.

"Vani, love, did you call Bertram as I suggested? I won't fight you for anything. Take what you want. I can be out of the house by tomorrow if that's what you need." She didn't deserve being dragged through my mud, and the sooner I was out of her life, the better it would be for her.

All our friends had taken sides during the three months between the revelation of my affair and election day. I didn't mind that everyone was sympathetic to Vani. The nasty things they said about me, I could handle, but my loyal companion of twenty years would not fare the same.

"Spencer, I refuse to allow you to go through this alone. What we do, or don't do, in our bedroom is our business. Outing you as they did is unconscionable. Whoever did that to you deserves to be horsewhipped. Thankfully, Blaire wasn't caught up in it, too, but I refuse to allow you to suffer the judgment of a bunch of hypocrites! We had an arrangement, and it was—and still is—nobody's business." Vanessa's conviction in her statement was admirable.

A collective groan sounded from the living room, and I knew it was over. I looked into Vanessa's eyes and saw the sadness, but all I felt was relief. "Come here." I opened my arms for her, and she stepped forward, clutching the kerchief in her hand while crying softly against my chest.

In my heart, I knew she was relieved, but the fact my reputation was effectively in the shitter was sort of tragic, which was likely why she was upset.

I didn't want her to be tainted by my mistakes, so I made up my mind to stay out of the spotlight as much as possible. It would give Vani a chance to seriously consider what I'd tried to get her to understand—I was damaged goods, and being supportive of me would only bring her down as well. Our time in the sun had ended in a shitstorm.

I found a baseball cap in my closet and grabbed my glasses from the nightstand, having popped out my contacts after everyone had finally left—some a lot more intoxicated than was necessary under the circumstances.

Getting elected with a scandal over my head was a no-win proposition, but I appreciated that my Senate and campaign staff had remained optimistic—the ones who hadn't deserted the sinking ship in August.

I was confident that all the folks who'd staffed my Senate offices in the Capitol would find employment easily, and the paid campaign staff would be snatched up quickly because in every campaign, there was a winner and a loser. Besides, once a government wonk, always a government wonk.

Those who walked out the day the scandal hit the papers hadn't fared so well, most of whom were still trying to find jobs, if what the rumor mill was ginning out had any basis in truth. Sadly, in a town like Washington, DC, loyalty—under any circumstances—weighed more heavily in one's favor than fleeing the scene before being touched by the stench of disgrace.

"You sure this is a good idea, Spence?" my Senate chief of staff, Mario Fernandez asked, glancing in the rearview to change lanes. That poor bastard had been through hell and back with me, starting when we both graduated from UVA and then staying on for law school together. He knew me as well as Vanessa, but I supposed that's why he still hung around.

It was like I had two spouses—two spouses and no sex to speak of, especially after the scandal overtook the headlines. What a load of horseshit it all turned out to be.

"I gotta go talk to him. Clearly, everyone believes I'm a dirty son of a bitch, so I expect Attorney General Milson will begin an investigation any day now. You'll all be under the microscope with me, but I still want to ensure Blaire stays out of the fray. He just got promoted to a network job. I won't be his downfall, too.

"I'm considering taking some time away at the end of the year, but I'll stay in touch so you can find me if I need to come back to testify before the Ethics Committee or something. Just drop me at the corner up here." I pointed to the end of the upcoming block.

Mario shook his head in disagreement, but I was doing what was best for everyone. Since the scandal broke, my parents had cut off all communication with my family, and our adopted son, Jay, was having a hell of a time keeping a low profile at college. He'd come home for election night, but I was certain he was leaving in the morning as soon as he could pack his Escape and get on the road. It was mind blowing how quickly everything went to hell.

Three Months Earlier

"Come on, Spence, we can't take a vacation together. What will Vanessa say if she finds out?" Blaire hissing into the phone made me chuckle. I was outside the Senate chamber, having cast my vote for the last bill on the agenda before the August recess.

"Vani and Jay are going to Portsmouth to see her folks before Jay starts school at Tech this fall, and I want to go away for a week before I start campaigning around the Commonwealth. Vani's going on the campaign trail with me, but it was her idea that I take a week to myself. I'll take care of everything, sweetheart. Please come with me?" Begging wasn't my usual MO.

Blaire Conner, a local network newscaster, and I had met at a fundraising dinner in January hosted by prominent lobbyist, Sean Fitzpatrick of The Fitzpatrick Group, and we hit it off extremely well. It was an unwritten rule in DC circles that media members who were invited to such events didn't share information they learned through casual conversations, or they weren't invited again. The town worked in mysterious ways, but most people followed the same code of conduct, or they quickly found themselves on the outside looking in.

"Are you sure this is safe? I mean?—"

I cut Blaire off. "I'm not telling anyone, are you? Look, we won't travel together. I'll fly out on Saturday, and you can join me on Sunday. I'll text all the details from my personal phone and make sure there's a car to pick you up at the airport. I'm looking forward to this, Blaire, so please, make it work on your end. I've missed the fuck out of you." It was my last-ditch effort to talk him into the trip.

I hoped to hell I was being convincing because I really wanted to see him. I wasn't in love with Blaire Conner, but I was sure I could find myself there eventually if we continued to see each other as we had been.

"Okay, fine. I'll do my best. Call me tomorrow. Be safe. Bye." Blaire ended the call. Mario was standing to the side, holding off a few senators who wanted a piece of my ass for voting for/against their spending bill—which hadn't gone according to their plan. Fool me once—fuck you .

I'd agreed to vote in favor of a joint resolution some members of the Senate had introduced regarding funding for an infrastructure project along the district boundaries on both the Virginia and Maryland sides. It would have improved the commute for many of my constituents who worked in the downtown area, and the Memorial, Key, Fourteenth Street, Purple Heart, and Wilson Bridges were all long overdue for an overhaul, which would have been included under the spending bill.

I was on board with it, even though it included a lot of pork—namely, an assload of money for a highway improvements project through the state capital of Georgia. I was backing it, even though I wasn't keen after Senator Turner put his label on it, but there was still a lot of the bill worth passing, and I'd been rallying my fellow senators on the blue side of the aisle to support it as well.

All was going well until I saw a news clip where the senator from Georgia made some nasty comments about one of the out members of the House, calling him a "limp-wristed fruit fly" because the younger man had contributed to a competing bill in the House that would also include laptops and hot spot devices for children in the low-income parts of DC.

The House bill was a solid piece of legislation, and it would do a lot for education in and around the district while only siphoning off a small percentage of the infrastructure funds to underwrite it—namely, some of the money that would go to Georgia for its bloated highway spending project. All things considered, I had no problem supporting the House bill when it came over to the Senate, and I'd pulled my support from the Senate bill, much to the disappointment of a few Senators—and that was putting it mildly.

Once I slid my phone into my pocket, it was game on. Senator Frank Turner, Republican from Georgia, raced over, his face as red as his tie. We'd worked across the aisle on a few pieces of legislation dealing with the federal tax rates on capital gains and income equality. For being a staunch conservative, the man had a few liberal tendencies I could respect, and I found myself liking him most days. That particular day was not to be one of them.

"Senator Brady, I thought you and I had struck a deal on that bill. I've always known you to be a man of your word," Turner snapped, his anger on full display.

The corridor outside the chamber was suddenly quiet, and I imagined every Gossipy Gertie taking careful notes about the interaction. I glanced to my right to see Mario with his usual worried expression, so for his sake alone, I vowed to keep my temper in check.

I was running for re-election, so I'd been on my best behavior and minded my manners, but when I'd seen the sound bite of Turner and his comment about the new junior representative from North Carolina, Benjamin Hoffman, I lost my shit.

Maybe it was because I was so deep in the closet that I couldn't find my way out with Alexa and Siri's help, but the young guy was recently elected because the senior congressman had left under somewhat dubious circumstances. Congressman Benjamin Hoffman handily beat his opponent in a special election, and he was a fellow Democrat, who had an impressive record in a mostly conservative North Carolina.

Congressman Hoffman had spearheaded a pushback of North Carolina's infamous "Bathroom Bill," which banned trans persons from using the restroom of their current gender, forcing them to use the restroom assigned at birth. I might have been lying about who I really was, but I was still supportive of my fellow members of the LGBTQ+ community.

Ben's ability to effectively serve North Carolina in the U.S. House of Representatives had nothing to do with being married to a man. From everything I'd heard, Raleigh Wallace worked in DC for a New York security company, Golden Elite Associates, and the man was effective at his job. Turner would be smart to steer clear of Mr. Wallace. I'd seen the man at a Fourth of July function once, and he was the size of a brick shithouse.

"Yes, Senator Turner, we had a deal. That was, until I saw you on television, bad-mouthing one of the junior congressmen for supporting competing legislation instead of pushing your bill in the House. Derisive language against anyone is reprehensible, but against a fellow member of Congress, who is still learning the ropes and looking out for the underprivileged, is bullying at its worst.

"If he'd have backed your bill, you'd be telling everyone what a breath of fresh air Congressman Hoffman is in the House, and how much you look forward to watching his career grow. Instead, you're putting another nail in the wall between our parties."

The more I spoke, the redder his face turned. I hoped to hell the old blowhard didn't have a stroke right there. That wouldn't be a good look for me any way you framed it.

I wasn't done talking, though. "And to think, I believed you to be one of the standouts who supported bipartisanship when it came to legislation benefitting the citizens of our great nation. Now, I stand corrected." It felt good to get it off my chest.

Turner was the epitome of a pompous southern politician, what with his potbelly that hung over his belt and a cigar in the pocket of his shirt. The way he rode roughshod over his staff was legendary in the Russell Office Building. I'd heard the stories myself for the two terms I'd been in office. Thankfully, my staff seemed to like me and worked hard to promote our agenda, not just use me to pad their resumes.

"That snot-nosed little bastard has no business in Congress. I'd have blackballed him if he was a member of my party. No faggot should ever…" Turner trailed off as I turned and walked away.

I wasn't about to listen to his bullshit. I had a vacation to plan with a guy I enjoyed spending time with, and no bigoted asshole was going to spout venom to taint it.

"Come on, Spence. The beach is private. Nobody will see us." Blaire demanded as we made our way outside the villa I'd rented and onto the private beach. Blaire wanted to fuck outside, and I was so dick whipped by him, I complied without a second thought.

We were at Jumby Bay Island, a beautiful private resort community in Antigua, and our accommodations happened to have a hammock strung between two curved palms near the shoreline. Blaire said he wanted to ride me in the hammock, and while I was worried about the laws of gravity, seeing the beautiful look of pleasure on his face made the decision for me— as perilous as it might be.

I pulled my shorts down enough to release my hard prick, but the way the hammock was strung between the trees, there was no way one of us wasn't going to fall off and break his neck, or something more important.

When Blaire started to climb on, I stopped him. "Babe, we're about one swing away from an ambulance ride. How about you lie crossways, sex swing style, with that gorgeous asshole in the air, and I'll keep my feet on the ground." He stepped back so I could haul myself out of the swinging death trap.

Once I was up, I helped him on, and I knelt, burying my face in his delectable ass. He'd arrived midafternoon, but he had a few reports to file before he was officially off the clock, so I worked in the study to give him space and privacy. It wouldn't do for anyone to recognize me lurking in the background while he had Zoom meetings with his colleagues back in DC.

As I spread his cheeks, I spit in his crack, and that pink star lured me in. Without hesitation, I swirled my tongue around his hole, enjoying the sounds he made as they echoed off the water.

I reached into the pocket of my shorts for the lube and condom I'd grabbed on the way outside, and in my haste to bury myself in his ass, my swim shorts fell around my ankles. Thankfully, it was a private beach, so nobody would see my forty-five-year-old white ass. The sun burned overhead, but I was looking forward to a weeklong fuck-a-thon, and I couldn't wait to get started.

Blaire had been away on assignment, reporting on recovery efforts from a category-two hurricane, Stanislav, which had made landfall in Newport News, Virginia, in mid-July. We'd seen each other there briefly when I'd toured the damage with the Governor and my fellow senator from Virginia, John Buford, another card-carrying bigoted southerner. Due to the fact it was a day trip, I didn't even get to speak to Blaire, so I was eager to reconnect.

"I'm ready." Blaire's breathy voice was my signal to pounce. I slid the condom down my cock and slicked his hole and then myself. I pulled his hips forward so his legs were hanging off the hammock, and I pushed my way inside until I was fully seated, both of us gasping at the feeling of being together again. I slowly slid out halfway and pushed back in, beginning a steady pace in pursuit of bliss for both of us.

"Yeah, baby, make it sting." Blaire's moan was hot. He liked a little slap and tickle while he was getting fucked, and I was only too happy to give it to him. One swift blow turning his right cheek bright pink revved my motor, so I did the same to the left.

I changed the angle to hit his prostate, dragging the head of my rod against it such that Blaire yelled, "I'm about to come! Do it again!" Gladly.

Blaire's hard cock had worked its way through the ropes of the hammock, so I tightened the netting like a cock ring to restrict him from blowing. "Not yet, baby. I'm not there yet." I was mesmerized by the visual of my dick sawing in and out of his velvet vice.

"Come on, Spencer, let me come," Blaire whined as my balls drew up, signaling I was there with him. I released the netting and jacked his cock twice, getting a tantalizing visual of him shooting his load onto the sand. I pounded into him a few more times before blowing my load in the condom buried deep inside Blaire's heavenly ass.

After catching my breath, somehow managing not to collapse, I grabbed onto the rubber and pulled out, holding it on my dick with one hand while helping Blaire up with the other. He turned to me and kissed me passionately, the action causing me to let go of the condom to pull him into my arms. The damn thing slid off my dick and splatted onto our feet, causing both of us to jump. "Gross!" Blaire yelled before we both laughed.

We pulled up our swim shorts and went into the ocean to rinse off before we ventured back to the hammock, collecting the used condom and walking arm in arm into the villa to start our five days in paradise—or so I thought.

It all came to a crashing halt two days later when Vani forwarded to me the link to an article on a gossip website showing my old white ass—blurred for the kiddies—and enough of a view of Blaire's right flank to give away the fact the recipient of my dicking wasn't Vanessa.