The rest of the day is uneventful, filled with press interviews, meetings with staff, and communication with the transition team. I definitely have my work cut out for me in January, but have the best team anyone could ask for. Statistically, I never should’ve won. I could’ve used my late husband’s last name, and it would’ve guaranteed the vote. But it didn’t feel right. I wantedto earn this on my own, even if I have an uphill climb to win over half of my state who didn’t vote for me.
I never wanted a life in politics, but when Phil was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer, I was thrust into it. It started by connecting with nonprofits, which turned into working with lobbyists, to then becoming one myself. Phil never smoked a day in his life—none of it made sense. I couldn’t sit idly by as I watched him die before my eyes. Losing him was one of the hardest days of my life. We may not have been soulmates, but he had become my best friend. He’d be so damn proud of what we’ve accomplished since he passed. I can only hope I’m doing enough to honor his memory.
It’s been five years. Five years without the man who never measured up to the love of my life. Still, twice a week, I show up at the shelter where his mother hid from her abuser when Phil was a child. Is it guilt? A little. But it brings me peace to know I can make a difference in someone’s life. It helps that no one at the shelter cares who I am. To them, I’m just Livy. Not Olivia Harris, gubernatorial candidate. Or Olivia Harris, Governor-elect. Just… me.
And now I’m on the radar of the President, and even world leaders—including Isaac.
I take a deep breath and wrap up a few emails, then head home. The entire ride, my mind is reeling, still riding the high of election night, but I also can’t stop thinking about Isaac. We only had a few short months together, but he left me heartbroken, and I never fully recovered. Stuffed down my feelings? Sure. But I never got over him. There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to see him again in person without being flooded with emotions.
My entire body aches as if I worked out earlier—adrenaline is no friend of mine. The crash is slowly washing over me, and the moment I’m home and upstairs, I turn on the faucet of my tub. After dumping in a floral bath bomb, I toss in a few squirts of my favorite vanilla body wash. As the water fills, I tie my hair up and undress, then dip my toes into the water. It’s no secret I’ve become a fan of a little pain with my pleasure, but the extra-hot water takes a little getting used to. I step all the way in and slide under the water. Each delicious inch is better than the first, washing away the last few months of stress, anxiety, and chaos. I let out a long sigh as my body adjusts to the temperature. I swear my entire soul leaves my body.
The bath bomb is nearly dissolved, filling my bathroom with a perfect blend of rose, lavender, and vanilla. Even with several minutes of soaking, I can’t fully relax. Glancing over to my trusty waterproof vibe, I side-eye her—we both know what will help me, but after I’ve been thinking of Isaac today, she’s the last thing I need.
Two more minutes pass, then five, then eight…
Fuck it.
“Okay, you little bitch, you better solve all of my problems, or you’re getting shoved into the back of a drawer for the next month,” I grumble, clicking the power button. It comes to life, and I increase the intensity to the third setting. Slipping it beneath the water, I conjure a recurring fantasy that almost always brings me over the edge.
“I want to taste every inch of you,“ a faceless man insists. His voice is low, hungry, but eerily familiar.
“Yes, Daddy,” I breathe, pressing the vibrator against my clit harder. “Show me I’m yours.”
“I’m yours, always, just as you’ve always been mine, Livy.”
I immediately shut off my vibrator. “No! Fuck you, Isaac. You don’t get to own my orgasms anymore, asshole!” I shout to the abyss. He’s not an asshole, but he’s definitely the last man I should be touching myself to. Still, his words from years ago pierce my ears. “I’m yours, always.”
This is bullshit.
Faceless man eating me on his desk.
This isn’t hard, just pretend he’s blond or something.
I can do this.
After several grounding breaths, I turn on my vibe, and submerge it in the water again, imagining a man with no glasses, no beard, no floppy hair, no dimple, no voice that makes my knees weak…
Except that’s exactly what I want.
It isn’t like he’d know.
What’s the difference between this time or the other hundred times fucking myself thinking of him? Who’s counting?
I’d give literally anything for Isaac to call me a good fucking girl—even if it’s imaginary. So what if I’m touching myself thinking about my ex-boyfriend who ruined me for all other men?
“That’s right, babygirl, show me how wet you are for me,” he whispers beside my ear, but it doesn’t feel like something he’d say to me. I try again. “Such a good fucking girl, begging onyour knees. Look how hard I am for you, Livy, and I haven’t even touched you yet.” While it’s also not something he’d say, honestly it doesn’t matter at this point. It’s definitely doing something for me—I just need to come.
“Yes,” I breathe, turning up the intensity on the vibe. Not caring that I’m talking to myself, I tell fictional Isaac, “I want you in my mouth.”
“Don’t tempt me, babygirl. I’ll happily shove it down your throat, but we both know what you need.”
“And what’s that, Daddy?”
“You want me to breed you.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
No. Nope. Absolutely the fuck not.
