Bill just needs to be the man in charge.

Henderson gave him the information before he gave it to James, wondering if he should even pass it on to the Prime Minister. Bill had actually considered it for a moment, considered letting James sit there with his arse hanging out, white and flabby as it flapped in the wind, and then shook his head, telling Henderson to wait a half hour and then present it to James's office.

His own office is sleek and polished, befitting the country's top mover and shaker. He plays the game as he should, no holds barred. He's turned bullshit into art, and the public swallows it down like it's fucking candyfloss, licking their fingers and begging for more. He's got the car and the whores and the house and the bank account to prove he's the master at what he does, and he's relatively certain that if he told the old bag of a Queen to bend over, he'd take her up the arse and she'd beg to suck him off after.

He closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, knowing James's problems are solved, the body and the tapes and the shopping trolley all cleverly dispatched somewhere they won't be found unless and until James finds himself out of line again. Bill holds all the cards. Always has.

"Mr. MacKinnon?"

He settles the chair back and leans forward, pressing the button for the intercom. "Yes, Angela?"

"There's someone here to see you, Sir."

"I fucking imagine there is, Angela, otherwise you'd not be bothering me, would you?"

"Er, ah, yes. Sir. Um. Mrs. Booth is here to see you, Sir."

"Is she." He releases the button and gets to his feet, walking to his office door. He can heard the distant buzz of Angela's finger on the button, waiting for his response, as he opens the door, leaning against it languidly, eyes sharp as he surveys the woman in front of him. "Hello, Mary."

"Hello, Bill."

"You want to come in? Step inside my office?"

"Said the spider to the fly?" she asks sharply before nodding once and stepping into the office.

Bill looks over at Angela. "You're dismissed."

"But Mr. MacKinnon…"

"You're dismissed. And if you go now, it won't be a permanent situation." He closes the door behind him, careful to turn the lock.

"That won't be necessary," Mary says. "I'll say my piece and then go." She tugs off her gloves and folds them neatly in her hand, tucking them into her pocket in a smooth, practiced motion. "You did something."

"I do a lot of things." He pushes off the door and walks toward her, placing his hand on her shoulder and sliding it across her back to the other, hooking it under the collar of her coat. "Allow me."

She doesn't move for a long moment and then finally shrugs her shoulders, letting him take the jacket from her. He eases it off of her, draping it across one of the leather seats opposite his desk. She stands there stiffly, her gaze shifting as she watches him sit down out of the corner of her eye.

"So." He runs his finger along the edge of his desk, then reaches up to straighten his tie, watching her follow the movements, finally moving up from his neck to his eyes. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I want to know what it is you think you're doing to my husband."

"I'm not doing anything to your husband, Mary. I think it would be more than safe to say that everything I do, I do for your husband. I'm his advisor. His right-hand man. My job is to make sure that James never makes a misstep."

"Bullshit." She turns so she's facing him, her own eyes narrowed with distrust and distaste. He shifts in his seat, crossing his legs and letting his hand just graze his hardening cock. "The only person you give a single shit about is yourself."

"Such language, Mary. And from the wife of the Prime Minister."

"You think you're so fucking clever, don't you?" She walks forward, shaking her head. "You're the schoolyard bully, Bill. Smallest prick, so you wave it around thinking you can bloody fool us all with the motion."

"I have it on terribly good authority, Mary, that you've never seen my prick. I also know, having seen James's prick, the last thing I am is the smallest one in the schoolyard. Or Parliament, for that matter."

"I want you to leave James alone."

"You do." He nods and gets to his feet, walking to the bar. He can still feel her eyes on him, gauging his movements as if he might give something away. He knows the way men see him - cunning, dangerous, domineering - and the way women see him - predatory, hungry, aggressive - and he accentuates his movements to suit, leaning against the bar and crossing his legs at the ankles, all planes and angles as she fails to look away before he catches her eye. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I think you're dangerous for James's career."

"Really?" He turns away from her and finds the brandy decanter and two glasses, pouring a measure into each. He hands her the glass, impressed with the steadiness of her hand as she takes it. He returns to the bar, leaning against it, holding his glass loosely as he strokes the rim of it carefully with one finger. He knows she's watching every move, looking for weaknesses and stumbling into strengths. "How is that, exactly?"

"You…" She pauses and takes a sip of her drink, false courage just like the kind James relies on. "You make him think he can do anything."

"Actually, Mary, I keep him from doing anything and make sure he does what needs to be done. In that regard, I think you can say that I am anything but dangerous to James's career." He licks his lips and takes a drink, watching her eyes as they make their way from his hand to his lips to his throat. "If you want to know who's a danger to James's career, well, I'm afraid you'll have to look at James himself."

"James is a fine man."

"James isn't why you're here." He sets his drink down, pushing off the bar and walking toward her, stalking her, circling her slowly. "Is he?"

"What? Of course he is."

"You're here because you think you know something. You think you've figured something out and you're here to find out if you're right." He touches her shoulder again, feeling the smooth skin just above her collar as he slides his fingers over. "He scared you, didn't he? The other night. Called you and said it was all over. Finished." He leans in and breathes against her ear. "Fucked up."

A thin shiver slides through her and he smiles, staying there, body pressed against her, his chest against her back.

"And you thought it was me? Did he blame me?"

"N-n…y-y…"

He nips at her earlobe. "Did he blame me, Mary? Tell you I'd fucked it all up? My fault." His tongue traces the shell of her ear as his hand trails down her arm, stealing the brandy from her hand. She releases it easily and he takes it, taking a sip before pressing his wet lips to her neck. "But you know better, don't you?"

"Bill." She swallows hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "You…"

"You know it's James fucking everything up. And that's why you're here, isn't it?" He huffs a soft laugh against her ear and then bites her earlobe, listening to her catch her breath and stifle a low groan. "You know I'm dangerous, yes. But you know that's what James needs, don't you?" He shifts closer, guiding her hip between his legs, pressing his hard cock against her. "What you need."

"No." Mary shakes her head, stepping away abruptly. She folds her hands together, knuckles white as she entwines her fingers as if she was in prayer. "No."

"No." He nods and finishes her brandy. He licks his lips and moves back to his desk, sprawling comfortably in the chair and spinning it so he can pin her with his gaze. "No. Course not. You're a good girl, right? A proper wife."

"You'll not mock me, Bill. I'm not your lackey."

"But James is, and you know it, Mary. He may bluster and he may bark, but he's my dog, and I will jerk his lead and bring him to heel. You know that. You like that, so you can stay in your posh house in your posh life. The prim and proper wife of the PM."

"The only thing he ever wanted was to make this country better."

"Fucking bullshit, Mary. Save that for the day he goes out in disgrace." He brings one foot up to the seat of the chair and lets his hand fall down between his legs, his fingers stroking carefully along his cock. "All he wants is to stay in power. He wants to feel like his prick is bigger than the rest, that he wields it like a fucking sword."

"Just because that's how you…"

He spreads his legs wider, turning his chair to look at her. "How I what?"

"Operate."

"You know fuck all about how I operate, Mary. You know fuck all about everything. You have ideas and half-truths and whatever distorted version of me James has given you in your head. And you probably slide your fingers into your hot cunt after James fails to fuck you properly and wonder what it would be like with me inside you."

"You." She exhales loudly, embarrassed and agitated, the sound indignant and shaky. "You think you're so in demand, don't you. You think they don't talk about you, you think they don't know who you are? What you are?"

"Oh, no, Mary." He gets to his feet and moves over to her, his fingers beneath her chin as he closes the distance between them, his lips almost brushing hers. "They know exactly who and what I am and what I can do. That's why they need me."

"Let me go, Bill."

He nods once and eases his fingers away, smiling and exhaling a low breath against her lips. He can sense them parting as her eyes widen, her pupils expanding. "I'm not touching you, Mary."

"T-thank you."

"You going to run home now? Run home to James? Tell him all the mean, nasty things Bill said to you? And what do you think he'll do, Mary? Will he be all up in arms and demand my resignation? Or will he tell you to stop playing with the dangerous animals if you don't want to get bitten? Do you think he'll applaud you being here? Or will he make his way to my office and suck me off, begging for my forgiveness at his wife's temerity?"

Her trembling breath fans over his lips and she sways slightly, uncertain of whether to lean in or move away. He can see her pulse pounding, feel the heat building. "I never had any intention of telling James."

"Then why are you here?" He closes the distance between them, murmuring against her lips. "Mary?"

"I t-to-told you." Her breath comes rapidly as she speaks against his mouth, the words hollow between his lips. "To…to…to…"

"Warn me off?" He slides his tongue against her upper lip, flicking his own like a snake, reveling in her resultant gasp. "Tell me to play nice?"

"N-no…To…to…"

He brings his hand up to her waist, unbuttoning the single button holding her suit jacket together then slides his hand beneath the fabric, letting it settle on her hip through the thin material of the white shell beneath. Her body is hot beneath his hand, even hotter as he slides it up to curve around her breast. "To persuade me?"

"You must stop, Bill."

"No, Mary. That's the fucking beauty of it all." He laughs, low and hungry, the pulse of victory singing in his veins sweeter and hotter than blood. "I don't have to stop. Ever."

She sways again, forward this time, into his kiss. He bites her lower lip before he kisses her, making her gasp. He doesn't know what she's used to, though he can image nights spent with her legs spread and her eyes focused on the ceiling, on anything but James's hot, sweaty, washed-out face and pale eyes, so he kisses her hard, claims her mouth with lips and teeth and tongue.

Mary groans and her mouth opens under his assault. Her nipple hardens against his palm and he moves his hand down, capturing the hard tip in his fingers and pinching it, swallowing her gasp with their kiss. She shudders as he moves his mouth down to her neck, his other hand curved around the other side of her throat, thumb rubbing against her pulse.

"Admit it, Mary," he whispers against the flesh, wet from his mouth, dark with pressure. "This is what you wanted. This is what you came for."

"No."

"No?" He pulls back a little, letting his hand fall from her neck, down her body to the hem of her skirt. He gathers the fabric up and pushes it out of his way, fingers finding thigh-high stockings and serviceable knickers and wet, wet flesh. "Then you want me to stop?"

"N-no." She shakes her head wildly as he thrusts two fingers inside her, his thumb pressing against her clit through the damp fabric of her knickers. "No. Don't…don't…stop."

"That's right, Mary." He bites the corded muscles of her neck as he backs her toward his desk. He eases his fingers out of her and slides them into his mouth, sucking them off before sliding them into hers, past her parted lips. He feels her tongue, tentative at first and then wrapping around them, taking them deep. "You don't want me to stop."

She shakes her head. "No. Don't stop."

"You know what it will be like if I stop, don't you?" He slides his hands to her hips and turns her then lets one hand slide up her back to her neck, forcing her against the desk. Her skirt is tight around her hips, but he pushes it up, watching the fabric cut into her thighs until the satin lining slides upwards and she's bare from the waist down save her knickers and her stockings. "Back to how it was before."

She nods, her dirty blonde hair escaping from her carefully pinned hairdo and falling around her neck. He can smell the cheap shampoo and the smell of her cunt, hot and wet and ripe for him. He doesn't bother to tug her knickers down, just pushes them out of the way and slides his fingers back inside her. She gasps and grabs for something on his desk, knocking over the back line and sending the receiver clattering to the floor.

He can hear James's voice in the distance, demanding an answer and the sound is too much as it grows sharper and more desperate. He pulls his fingers out and pinches her clit, making her gasp and then pushes his prick inside her. Her groan is like a living thing, shuddering through her body as she rocks back against him. He drops his voice, whispering in her ear, making sure all James can hear is the soft pant of her breath, her desperate, hungry pleas for more as he drops his own voice to a whisper, breathing in her ear.

"I stop and it's back to the old house on Landing Road, isn't it, Mary? I stop and it's back to James drinking too much cheap scotch and watching rugby on weekends, fucking the whore at the corner pub every Wednesday night while you're at your ladies' meeting. I stop and you're back to nothing and James is less than that."

"Please…"

"I made him, Mary. And I made you. I stop and your house of cards falls the fuck apart." He can feel her tightening around him, her body constricting as he thrusts deeper, harder. He hears the soft sound she makes with every stroke, her body colliding with the desk. She'll have a mark across her stomach, a dark and deep line that he knows she'll trace over and over, pressing against it and remembering his cock buried inside her.

"Don't…don't…"

"Say it," he growls, breath hot in her ear, thrusting harder, deeper. He wants her to feel this for weeks, wants her to feel it when she breathes. "Say it. Two little words, Mary. Say them."

"Don't stop." She's panting, gasping and he wonders if James can hear, if he's figured out what's happening, if he knows. "Please. Don't stop."

He slides his hand down and finds her clit, pinching the nub between his fingers as he comes. She cries out, and he can hear James's renewed concern echo over the phone. Bastard's probably been wanking the entire time, Bill laughs to himself, wondering who's getting fucked on the other end of the line. He pinches her clit harder until Mary's body jerks, climaxing around him with another cry.

Releasing her, he slides from inside her, letting her knickers fall back into place before he steps away, picking up the back phone and dropping the receiver into the cradle. He moves to the bar and pours more brandy in his glass, leaning back and sipping it as she straightens, tugging her skirt back down over her hips without turning around, without looking his way.

"This is the way it works, Mary." He takes a drink and lets his gaze drift down to her stockings, the neat line still firmly in the middle of her calf. "James smiles for the cameras and I make sure they're focused on his face and not the shit on his shoes. I make sure the pictures are of dying Iraqis and not pieces of Englishmen. I stop and it all stops. Do you understand me?"

She nods, smoothing her skirt one last time and then refastening in her jacket. "Yes." She exhales the word, spent and broken, a bit like James, and he thinks it's almost a shame.

He was hoping for more.

"You know what else I understand, Bill?" She turns and looks at him, her face defiant and he feels a jolt in his cock, a rush of thick, heated blood. "Whether James spends his days and nights fucking whores or fucking England or listening to the Queen herself get off over the back line, he comes home every night to me. He loves me. So you remember that, and think about what he would do if he knew what happened here tonight."

She walks over to him and takes his drink, swallowing it all down in one quick jerk of her head. He doesn't move save to smile, the corner of his mouth curving sharply upward. She upends the glass, letting the expensive booze drip onto his expensive shoes and run down to the expensive carpet, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

"We're not the only ones in a house of cards, Bill. And believe it or not, you're not the only one holding aces."