Four days passed in no time. I got along with Mallory easily during the first day that we were here, but it was different during the others. The past days were packed with meetings, campaigns, and press-conferences, and as boring as the were, there was still an excitement burning in my chest when I sat on the stages. Watching Ted Morgan speak, answer questions, and rally people together was thrilling: the way the spoken word could excite people was a mystery to me, but I suppose it happened all the time. Everyday, advertisements did the same thing, persuading people to buy something, claiming it's the "best in the business". And politics, people get even more passionate with that.

When we weren't in some press-conference, which was always after 6, Mallory would send me off to some fancy restaurant down the street, I would wait for twenty minutes before she called me and said "I can't make it", leaving no room for explanation before she'd hang up. Then I would proceed to have dinner by myself, send the bill to the hotel room, and sneak off to a dive bar for a couple of drinks before returning to said hotel room. From there, I'd get ready for bed- shower, drink water to prevent a hangover, brush my teeth, and lay down, always asleep before Mallory would even come back to the room. To make matters even worse, she was always up before me, dressed, gone, and with a note on her pillow saying "Out to get coffee. Meet me in the lobby at 9:00".

And we slept in the same bed, supposedly. We shared a freaking bed, and I didn't have a clue where she was when she decides to disappear.

It was just peachy freaking keen.

Sitting on a wobbly barstool, I wiped my face with my hand in exhaustion. The clock above the taps showed 11:37, and I knew if I stayed any longer, I'd be a hot mess in the morning. So, I downed the rest of my jack and coke, put a tip on the counter under my glass and shouted out to the bartender.

"Bye, Andrew. Tell the wife thanks for the tums the other night!"

His name was Andrew, obviously. He owned the place, Bar 221 it was called. It'd been in his family since his great, great grandfather was old enough to drink, at age eighteen. They had struggled through the many laws regarding alcohol and liquor; the numerous age changes and restrictions, prohibition too. But, through much secret keeping, and, my favorite part, transforming it into a bingo hall during the day to make more income and then a speakeasy at night, they were able to keep the place up and running.

"No problem, Esme! See ya' tomorrow."

The streets weren't too busy, and I was able to cross quickly, slightly staggering into the hotel and the elevator. The bright lights inside burned my corneas, so I shielded my face. God, I'm dying.

When the elevator pinged, signaling the opening of the doors, I rushed to my room, fumbling over my keycard. My expectations of the room fell flat. I expected to find an empty room, a hot shower calling my name, pajamas begging to be put on, and a bed ready to engulf my body. Instead, the woman of my dreams and nightmares reclined on the bed that I longed for, book in one hand, glass of champagne in another. Glasses were perched on her aristocratic nose, and a glare painted her features when she glanced up at me.

"So nice of you to join me, Miss Holland." Her nose went back into her book.

I slid my shoes off and headed straight to my bag, pulling out a clean pair of underwear, a tank top, and comfortable pants, aka sweats. Ignoring Mallory in favor of a shower, I locked the door behind me, setting the water to a scalding and soothing temperature. As soon as the spray hit my aching body, I relaxed. There was something so satisfying from just standing underneath flows of water.

After I finished, I wrapped my hair up in a towel, dressed, and left, crawling into bed on my stomach next to Mallory. I watched her set the book down, as well as her glass, and take her glasses off. She looked simple and beautiful; her hair up in a ponytail and a silk nightie covering her with a fluffy robe.

Her hand rose up and began caressing my cheek, tender, yet her fingers were cold. I hummed dreamily, but refused to let my eyes fall shut. Instead, I looked up at the brunette, either indifference or something else painted on her face. Her eyes were dim, emotion lacking. It was weird. Her eyes, blue and icy like the winter, always spoke novels. They screamed from the rooftops, declaring her feelings, but they were now void, almost lifeless except the reactions of her pupils and simple blinks.

The same hand that was on my cheek traveled slowly, gliding down to my neck. I tilted my head to better accommodate the hand, now forced to keep my eyes on Mallory; as if I was going to move them in the first place.

"Where were you?"

It didn't come off as a question, but like a demand, which wasn't new to me. Mallory didn't ask, usually.

"A bar," I replied simply, "right down the block."

Mallory stared at me oddly, then pulled her hand away, picking up her book once again and reading. I tilted my head sideways, completely and utterly confused. She didn't act like this. This wasn't normal, and I wanted her attention.

Weird, I wanted her attention. It was almost humorous, how I had hated her, but still accepted the fact that she was gorgeous, and now, I wanted her affection and praise. I wanted her to tell me that I was good, to stroke my hair, maybe give me a massage, or simply be in her presence like when we were in the office. She was always a little looser there, more confident, but knew she didn't have to be behind closed doors. She didn't have to prove to anyone that she did her job, and did it well.

Sitting up from the bed, I kept my eyes on Mallory, noticing how she didn't even glance at me as I moved. With a carelessly managed plan in my head, I maneuvered myself on the bed, raising one knee up and over Mallory's legs, settling down on her lap. Still, she didn't respond, so I took it a step further.

I reached out and grabbed the book from her hands, a cheesy romance slash murder mystery novel by the looks of the cover, and sat it on the bed. Met with a curious glance on once blank features, I gave a shy smile before reaching towards the robe, pulling at the strand of fabric around her waist and unraveling the bow it was tied into. This was uncharted territory, I was out of my depth, and this could result in a punishment.

Good idea Esme.

Pushing the robe off her shoulders, I revealed more of Mallory's nightie, and ultimately, her chest. Her breasts were still perky, despite the obvious lack of support, and her nipples strained against the thin fabric in a delicious, almost pornographic, way. I had to stop myself from drooling at the sight like a wild dog, but bow wow wow was all I had to say.

"Esme."

It was a warning, and I probably should have heeded it.

"Yes Miss?"

Batting my lashes, I continued on my trek, bringing my hands to her shoulders. My fingers wrapped around the spaghetti straps of her gown. I teased at the straps, moving them slowly down her shoulders. They hung against her upper arm, right below her armpit, giving the illusion that her chest was exposed even more.

I glanced up at Mallory again. She hadn't objected, at least not yet, and had yet to tell me no. Sure, I was probably pushing my luck, but oh well. Her reaction was a cool, simple, glance, almost like she was waiting to see how far I'd go on my own will.

Weird. It felt like this wasn't a "mistress/pet" relationship, or whatever people called it. This --playfully sitting on her lap and pushing my luck-- almost seemed like a normal partnership and or a giddy romance, and I couldn't help but compare this to Kalob and I's first few times that we had sex. There were always soft, lingering touches, light teasing that went all but unnoticed, small giggles and raspy whispers; romantic in every poetic sense.

But I couldn't think of that, because if I did, I'd feel bad for being this way to him. And besides, I was with Mallory. We weren't "in love"; it was a business negotiation, going further to say contractual obligation.

Leaning down, I pressed my lips to the tops of her breasts, pulling the rest of the nightie down. A soft inhale came from Mallory's lips, her hand finding purchase in my hair.  I hummed against her skin, moving lower until I reached her nipple. Bringing the soft flesh into my mouth, I peered up at the woman, her eyes hooded and dark.

"Esme," she husked, and I couldn't help but smirk against her, because I caused that.

I murmured in response, and continued to lavish the dusky flesh with my tongue and lips until I was pulled away by the roots of my damp hair.

"No."

Wiping away the slobber that had started to drip past my lips, I rolled off of the woman in aggravation and slipped under the covers. My back was to Mallory, and I found myself staring at the wall rather than closing my eyes and sleeping. God she use to want me to be like this, needy, wanting her, and here I was, but it wasn't enough, apparently. So what would be enough for the infuriating woman?

The bed dipped beside me, then rose, signaling that Mallory had either moved or gotten out of bed. I turned my head and noticed the latter, the older woman slipping on house slippers and tying her robe.

As she walked to the door, I spoke up, irritated. "Bye."

Mallory looked at me sharply, only regarding me with "I'm going to get ice" before leaving.

Rolling onto my side once again, I threw the blankets on top of me further, burying myself between a plush comforter, cotton sheets, and a fluffy pillow. I just needed to sleep, that'd be enough for now. If I could sleep, then this day would be over, and it'd be tomorrow, and it'd be better. But, of course, sleep evaded me, and I laid there, staring at the wall until I pulled out my phone to check the time.

2:17

I had to have been laying there for at least an hour, maybe ninety minutes, meaning that Mallory had been gone for said amount of time.

And okay, I'm no genius, but it does not take someone more than fifteen minutes to get ice.

I got out of bed, searched for a pair of socks, and left the room, grabbing the spare key to our room on the way out. Walking down the hall towards Ted's designated room, just past the ice machine might I add, I sighed. I hated bothering him, especially at two in the morning, but I couldn't find Mallory, and I wasn't sure where she would go besides here. If she was here, all was well, but if she wasn't, what then?

I could imagine the headlines tomorrow: Councilwoman Missing, Assistant Incompetent, & Strange Contract Discovered in Councilwoman's Office.

Wow. I could be famous. Maybe I'd end up on Ellen.

I was seconds from knocking on the door when I noticed a keycard on the carpeting, sticking out from underneath the wooden door. Picking it up, I figured it was worth a try. To my gratefulness, the once red light on the doorknob turned green when the keycard was inserted and removed.

Here we go.

Opening the door, I crept into the hotel room, scanning each direction possible as I moved further in. It was slightly quiet, typical, but a sharp bang alerted me, sending shockwaves of anxiety and a spike in my heart rate. It sounded like something being flung into the wall, or someone, I should say.

With the kitchen to my left, and a door ajar further down, I swiped a knife from the wooden cutlery block and slithered down the hall as quiet as possible. The struggle seemed to continue, light movement against the wall, maybe some hand to hand combat as heavy footsteps and slight grunts were so clearly heard. Maybe I'll die protecting whoever it was in here.

Not everything in life plays out like a horror or action movie, Esme. Maybe Ted's just angry and growing stuff.

My sensible portion of brain material continued to persuade me that I was overreacting, but the movie buff and imaginative child in me spoke louder as I pushed open the ajar bedroom door.

The knife almost fell out of my hand as my eyes locked onto bare ass cheeks, heavy leg hair, old man love-handles, and toned, feminine legs wrapped around pale thighs. I wanted to vomit on the spot. Mallory Morgan, in all her disheveled glory, was pushed up against the wall in front of me, and mounted on top of her naked husband. Her eyes locked onto mine, a wicked glimmer in each pool with a smirk to match.

And then it clicked.

She wanted me to find her here. The keycard was purposely left under the main door. The bedroom door was purposely cracked. And she was purposely fucking her husband in front of me, even though his back was to me? I'm not sure how that works out, but so not the point. Shaking my head, I about turned around and walked out, at least until I heard Mallory's raspy voice, coarse like sandpaper, but thick and sweet like syrup.

"Stay," she murmured, whimpering like a lost animal and taking one of her hands and pushing Ted's head into the crook of her neck. "Stay right there, stay inside of me, please."

It seemed like she was talking to me, but covering it up by talking to Governor Morgan? This was strange, and slightly uncomfortable, if that wasn't obvious.

Icy blue eyes held their gaze upon me while sinful lips parted into an exaggerated moan. Mallory was a woman untamed, proving her dominance and control over me in the most degrading ways. Who would tell their pet or whatever to watch them screw their husband? That's kind of gross; no offense Mr. Morgan, but I don't want to see your pasty ass cheeks. That's not my cup of tea.

Expletives flowed from Mallory's mouth, ranging in frequency and tone. But then, I noticed the way her toes started to curl, eyes fluttering open and shut, and her jaw beginning to tighten. She was about to orgasm.

When her head flung forward, burying itself into the governor's neck, I made my escape. I laid the knife on the counter, as well as Ted's keycard, and booked it out of the room. My heart was racing as I ran down the hallway. I probably looked like a psych patient; complete agitation and no sense of normalcy.

Safe in the hotel room, I didn't even bother bringing a towel as I shed my clothes on the way to the bathroom. I needed another shower; I felt dirty and so completely revolted and my clothes should be burned, and my eyes wanted to go blind, et cetera. The iced water burned against my skin---slight numbness, tingling, and itching followed.

What was the purpose of having my find them fucking? I knew they were married; married couples screw each other. The contract told me that she could be with another person physically, and so could I, but there was no need to rub that in my face.

Leaning my head against the shower wall, I let the cold spray flood down my back until I couldn't stand the felling anymore. At that point, I got out, shook my body like a wet dog to dry off some, grabbed an unused hand towel by the sink and tried to dry off moreso. Satisfied with a mediocre job, I left my clothes on the floor, buried myself under piles of covers and sheets, and forced myself to fall asleep because tomorrow was going to be awkward.