When I step inside the hotel room, it’s empty. There’s a message on my phone from Reagan saying her plane took off a little bit late, but she was only running a half hour behind. Just enough time for me shower and get the room ready after a long day of shaking hands and kissing other people’s babies.
I pull off my clothes as the hot water from the shower fills the small bathroom with steam. After stepping inside, I tilt my head back, letting the spray splash my face as the water trickles down my body. My muscles are tense, but that’s more from the stress of the campaign than any real hard activity. But tonight, that’ll all change.
Having Reagan with me for a few days will be good for our relationship and my enthusiasm on the trail. As the election gets closer, I find myself less in love with the entire process. When I threw my hat into the political ring, I never thought I’d get this far and be vying for the biggest office in the state of Illinois. But I saw all the good I accomplished in the Senate, even though many of the bills I supported were killed by political party bullshit. The governorship would allow me more freedom and possibilities, less encumbered by the bickering from other states, to the detriment of my voters.
I wash up before stepping out, towel-drying quickly, and pull on a pair of loose shorts. I plan to spend the next twelve hours in bed with Reagan, only taking a break to eat. There’s nothing I want more than to spend time between my wife’s legs, pleasing her and reminding her she’s mine.
There’s a light knock and a jiggle of the handle before I hear, “Jude.”
My heart speeds up as I stalk toward the door and my wife. “Baby,” I say as she comes into view, standing in the hallway, looking as beautiful as ever.
I pull her forward, wrapping my arms around her as she drops her bag. She snakes her arms around my neck as she hooks her legs around my back, fastening herself to me. My lips are on hers, hard and quick, needing to feel every inch of her.
“I’ve missed you,” I mutter against her mouth, barely taking a breath before I cover her lips with mine again.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, holding her mouth to mine as her tongue tangles with mine. Our hands move feverishly against each other, needing and wanting the connection. I’m almost breathless when she finally pulls away.
“Hey,” she whispers and rests her forehead against mine.
“Hey yourself.” I breathe her in, relishing the smell and feel of my wife after so many days.
“I wanna talk before we get lost in bliss for the next however many hours I have you.”
My gaze never wavers from her as she speaks. The last thing I want to do is talk, especially when it involves a topic that may lead to another fight. If she didn’t think it was going to be an issue, she would’ve waited to bring it up. That much I know about my wife.
I carry her to the bed, still wrapped around my body, and sit on the edge. She straddles my legs, fidgeting with the ends of my hair near my neck.
“So, talk,” I tell her, slipping my fingers under the hem of her dress shirt and stroking the soft skin near her waist.
“Before we go any further, I really want to take this job.”
“Okay.” I slide my hands up her back, toying with the dip of her spine as she shivers in my arms.
“The good thing is, I don’t have to be in Washington as much.”
“That’s a bonus.”
Earlier, when I was only a senator, Reagan being in Washington was great. Now, I’m barely there, but that hasn’t cut down on her trips to the city. More than anything, I want more time with my wife. There’s a fine line, though. She needs to work, and somehow, I need to learn to accept her absence even if it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“So, you’ll be home more?” I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her response.
She bites her lip and lowers her gaze. “Well, not exactly.”
I take a deep breath, knowing she’s about to tell me things I don’t want to hear. “Go on.”
“Well,” she says as her fingernails trace my shoulder blades, sending goose bumps across my skin. “Andrea needs help. She wants someone she trusts and is reliable to help take some of the workload off her shoulders.”
I close my eyes and bury my face in the crook of my wife’s neck as she continues talking.
“It’ll require more short trips, but I’ll be able to be home more than before.”
“How many trips?” I ask, pressing my lips to her neck near her collarbone.
“One a week at least.”
I pull my lips away from her skin and lean back, staring into the eyes of my wife. “You’re going to be gone every week?”
The realization of what that means hits me as I repeat the words back to her. As it is, Reagan travels once or twice a month to DC, but she’s gone for a week at a time.
