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It was over. He had lost. It was all over the news. Every person in every country was talking about it. How he claimed fraud and how he refused to admit his loss. They all called him narcissistic, a sore loser, the love of his supporters not being enough to ensure the get out of jail card for the next four years. They thought that’s what he feared most.
They were wrong.
Compared to what was to come, jail would be easy. He’d imprison himself ten times over if it meant the absence of his greatest punishment. He’d walk barefoot through Hell and back even. He didn’t care if his supporters thought his deepest fantasies were unholy. If it got him what he wanted, it’d serve his purpose.
But he could never have what he really wanted.
What he wanted was a firm, lean body pressed up against his. He wanted lean arms wrapped around his waist. He wanted to get lost in dark blue eyes as they gazed back into his own gray ones. He wanted that sly, crooked grin to be aimed at him while his cheeks grew rosy from hot, mint scented breath. He wanted long, thick fingers to run through his hair, down the side of his face, onto his neck, down his chest and even further down until…
Wait, why was Mike staring at him?
“Yes?”
“Will any action be taken against Wisconsin, sir?”
He sighed through his nose. Right, he was supposed to be focusing on lawsuits. He heard Melania huff next to him, already having had made her opinion on the whole matter made clear.
He silently wonders why either of them haven’t filed for a divorce yet.
Right, she money, he his image.
He turns to a nearby window, ignoring both Mike’s frustrated grunts and Melania’s bored huffs, in favor of going back to visions filled with soft gray hair, warm chuckles and sizeable fingers.
He silently wonder what, in another life, could’ve been.