The Power Trip

attend her show before flying onto Cabo San Lucas the following day.

It was an arrangement that did not sit well with Jeromy. Watching Suga perform was akin to having a thousand sharp knives stuck in his eyes. The woman pranced across the stage like an over-sized Barbie doll in ridiculous outfits that she obviously considered insanely sexy. They were insane all right, suitable only for a five foot ten inch, skinny, flat-chested model — not a short, overweight, fifty-something diva, with big hair, huge bosoms, and an abundance of makeup.

The fans who crowded the arena obviously appreciated her over-the-topness. Jeromy certainly didn’t; her voice sent shivers up his spine, and not in a pleasant way.

The most excruciating part of the evening was when she dragged Luca up on stage with her, and the crowd erupted into a frenzy of whoops, screams and orgasmic sighs at the sight of their idol.

Luca. Jeromy’s blond Latin god. On stage with the she-wolf. Not a pretty sight. Jeromy was mortified that he had to witness such a scene.

Afterwards there were celebratory drinks in Suga’s overcrowded dressing room. Hangers-on abounded. Young fans, old fans, managers, promoters, a couple of photographers.

Jeromy slid into a corner and stayed there. He was an observer at a freak show, certainly not a participant.

Luca didn’t seem to notice or care about his lack of interest, he was too busy making sure that Suga received the full dazzle of his attention.

Damn the woman! The more time Jeromy spent in her company, the more he loathed her. She was easy to hate.

Looking around, he soon made eye-contact with one of Suga’s back-up dancers, a tall thin man clad in ass- baring leather pants, his head shaved. Jeromy had noticed him on stage, and now, in close proximity, he felt that old familiar stirring. They continued making eye-contact, until with a slight tilt of his eyebrow, Jeromy indicated the door.

Luca was still busy playing nice with Suga and did not notice Jeromy slipping out, nor the dancer following close behind him.

Without exchanging a word, they both headed for the men’s room where they crowded into a stall together.

Jeromy reached out and touched the man’s shaven head while feverishly unzipping his own pants.

The dancer fell to his knees and accepted Jeromy’s engorged cock into his mouth.

Still no words were spoken.

The sexual excitement was intense as Jeromy realized that at any moment they could be discovered.

He shuddered out an orgasm, hurriedly stuffed his member back into his pants, and re-joined the dressing- room group.

Ten minutes later Luca finally remembered he was alive, and approached him.

‘You getting bored?’ Luca asked.

Getting bored! What planet did Luca live on?

‘I’m perfectly fine,’ Jeromy said, noticing his partner in sex across the crowded room. ‘Only since we have such an early flight tomorrow, perhaps we should think about leaving.’

‘Sure,’ Luca agreed. ‘I’ll go say goodbye to Suga. Come with, she adores you.’

Blatant lie.

Jeromy followed Luca across the room to where Suga held court. Her elaborate eye makeup was smudged, and her lip-gloss caked on her obviously enhanced lips. Vagina lips, Jeromy thought to himself. Big old vagina lips.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Suga said to Jeromy, all fake warmth and cloying perfume.

Ah, she should only know…

‘It was my pleasure,’ Jeromy lied. ‘And you were…’ he searched for the right word, ‘amazing.’

‘Of course,’ Suga said, adding a rather grand — ‘I never let my fans down.’ Then dismissing him, because she was well aware he didn’t mean a word he said, she turned to Luca and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him full on the lips and whispering something in Spanish in his ear.

Jeromy did not speak Spanish. His young lover spoke perfect English so there had never been the need to learn. Right now he wished he knew what the annoying cow had said. English/Spanish, it didn’t matter. It was one of those intimate whispers that put a big smile on his young lover’s handsome face.

Dammit. Why did the fat bitch cast such a spell over Luca? It had to be broken, that was for sure. And he was the one to do it.

Chapter Thirty-One

Sierra dreaded the forthcoming trip. She loathed the thought of being stuck in a cabin on a boat — however luxurious — with Hammond in close proximity. It wasn’t as if she even knew Aleksandr Kasianenko. She’d met him once — briefly — at a political event in Washington. They’d exchanged pleasantries for a quick moment in time, and that was it. Hammond had then proceeded to pursue him like a dog chasing a particularly juicy bone.

It was the night before their departure, and as usual Hammond was working late. Earlier in the day they’d attended a lunch together, and she’d acted as the perfect political wife in a St John suit, her auburn hair neatly coiffed, smile firmly in place. Oh yes, she would make an outstanding First Lady, and didn’t Hammond know it. That’s the only reason he wanted her. She understood that, and it sent chills down her spine.

Hammond had a dream. And that dream was to be standing on the steps of the White House, with her on his arm.

May I present President Hammond Patterson, and his lovely wife, Sierra Kathleen Snow Patterson.

The perfect wife. The perfect husband. What a couple. They would put the Kennedys to shame.

Or so Hammond thought.

Sierra was confident that day would never come. Someone would eventually expose Hammond for the phony he was. Maybe it would be her. But she didn’t think so, she couldn’t risk it.

No. She had to depend on someone else to take him down.

And who that someone was, she didn’t yet know.

* * *

‘Am I working you too hard?’ Hammond enquired, pressing his fingers together as Skylar entered his office carrying a stack of papers.

‘Not at all, Senator,’ Skylar said, quite pleased with herself, because out of all the interns she was obviously his favourite. This was the fourth night in a row he’d asked her to work late. ‘I’m here to be of service.’

Indeed you are, Hammond thought. And tonight I’m going to test that theory out.

‘How’s that boyfriend of yours?’ he asked.

‘Oh, y’know,’ Skylar said, gesturing vaguely with her left hand.

‘Together? Not together?’ Hammond pressed.

‘We… uh… had a bit of a fight.’

‘About what?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Skylar confessed. ‘Sometimes he seems so… inexperienced.’

Hammond jumped at the opening. ‘Sexually?’ he questioned, standing up from behind his desk.

Skylar’s face reddened.

‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ Hammond continued, walking around the desk towards her. ‘I told you before, I discuss everything with my teenage daughter. Sex… well naturally, because boys are inexperienced. They mature much later than girls, therefore they have no idea how to treat a woman.’ A long meaningful pause. ‘And that’s what you are, Skylar — a young beautiful woman.’