Shameful | Congressman!Kylo x Reader

Chapter 20: The Gala

y'all this is over 7k words. it is almost 4am. i'm so sorry lmfaooooooo, but PLEASE let me know what y'all think!!!!

CW: drug use! in no way am i advocating for/trying to completely glamorize the drug i'm writing about— in reality it genuinely fucking sucks and makes you feel really gross for a long time. AND it's dangerously addictive. this is a huge dramatization of what the actual experience is like. save the headache and anxiety and just drink coffee instead! ily!!

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Kylo's POV

I almost had her tonight. I'm now fully tangled in her— mired, trapped, disheveled, split into fucking pieces.

I was a mess earlier, scribbling in my notebook for hours, trembling with fucking anticipation all day, hoping against hope that she'd run my bank account dry.

And she did. She was so fucking good for me.

I skulked up to her cozy palace, my hands quivering as I held bags of dresses and playthings that I knew would make her smile, and when she opened her door, the blood drained from my body, pouring out over the floor in a shameful pile— hot and coagulated with her venom. She was warm and timid and draped only in a flimsy piece of fucking pink silk that I wanted to tear to shreds.

And when she all but mounted me on her pristine little bed, everything went blank. I wanted to swallow her plush, cloying, sugar-coated body whole. I was ready to embed myself fully in her, let her claim me. But I'm her boss.

If only she knew that I had to pull over to the side of the road and fuck my fist before I even got home... and then three more times that night, whimpering her name.

I nearly called up Vanessa just so I'd have something to fuck into, but the thought made me dry-heave.

Sure, for now I'll let my girl buy herself wine and fragrances and whatever bullshit gives her momentary joy, but the only perfume she'll be wearing is me. It's only a matter of time.

My POV

The chase is often more fun than the real thing— or so I've convinced myself.

I arrive at the office on Monday earlier than usual, ready to brief the team on the next couple months — arguably the most crucial months — of our campaign.

I've got a chic but forgettable dress on today. I didn't have the wherewithal to do much else. Last night left me vibrating with adrenaline— I couldn't sleep a wink. Seeing Ren so eager, so supple and pliant for me, awakened something within me. I toyed with him entirely too much— wore off the shiny new paint from handling him— so it's time that I put him down for awhile.

A part of me, though, had wished that he hadn't left— that he'd push back a bit, keep begging. But he didn't.

I'm in the middle of workshopping new messaging with our field team when the elevators slide open behind me— I know it's Ren without even casting a glance.

"Hullo," he addresses the team. I remain faced away from him.

"Morning," his voice drops an octave. I know he's greeting me pointedly.

I turn to face him, and he's just as enticing as ever. His hair is pushed back lazily, his characteristic pout evident in the way he makes eyes at me from across the room. He's wearing a black button-down, sleeves pushed up, tucked into a pair of black trousers. He looks like a hot funeral director, or priest, or...

"Morning, Congressman," I drawl, giving him a quick once-over, making sure he sees my eyes travel across his body. I get an overwhelming urge to walk over and bite down on his forearm.