Commander in Chief
Page 41
He’s so beautiful. His muscles smooth and hard, perfectly delineated. I remembered how gorgeous he was, but I suspect he’s been working out a bit more than he had been—sexual frustration, maybe. The thought makes me melt. He really looks a bit thicker and more muscular, and I let my fingers enjoy his hard work. I lean over and kiss his nipple, my fingers brushing over the dusting of hair on his chest.
I’m rewarded by a low, pained sound. “Lick it harder,” he says. Voice rough and raw.
“Matt,” I moan.
He releases a smile as he looks down at me, eating me up with his eyes, caressing me everywhere. He tells me I’m gorgeous as he moves his finger inside me. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Charlotte?” He seizes the base of his cock and leads it to my seam. There.
Right
At
My
Opening.
My breath goes. I fist the sheets beneath me. And my eyes roll into the back of my head at the sheer pleasure of feeling my husband drive inside me again. Inch by inch. Slow. With so much care, I can feel his body vibrate.
We’re heart to heart, skin to skin, heat to heat.
He palms the side of my face, looking into my eyes. I mewl softly, tilting my hips to encourage him to move. But still he doesn’t, just looks at my whole face, our breathing ragged as he allows me to adjust to the feel of him again.
I bite my lip breathlessly. “Please,” I beg.
“I love you,” he gruffs out, brushing his thumb along my lower lip, leaning over to flick his tongue out and soothe the skin I just bit.
He starts moving—slowly, exquisitely slowly. His body powerful and in control, making love to mine. He makes love to me as if I’m a virgin, as if it’s my first time and he wants me to never forget it.
And in this moment, all my world is him as I undulate beneath him, relishing the closeness, his nearness, him. He is the most powerful man in the world. He is determined and strong and ambitious, he is noble and honest, and he is also true and unwavering—not once does his desire waver; on the contrary, even with a remaining one-month bump that I hope to be able to run off once I resume exercise, I have never felt so sexy to him, so precious, or so loved.
And on this day, the mystery of our love grows, and I realize that it keeps changing, evolving, deepening with every experience we share, every kiss not given and every kiss given, every whisper and every word unsaid. I have never in my life felt the kind of love I feel for him—and as his hands caress me tenderly, the tension in his body evident as he tries to be gentle but hinting at his simmering desire, the deep words of love he whispers in my ear, beautiful and perfect and his, I know he feels it too. And I know that this feeling is probably as mysterious to him as it is to me, and just as wondrous.
39
GROWING
Charlotte
Matt Jr. is growing so fast, he’s walking already—and absolutely has the run of the household, with everyone oohing and aahing over our charming boy.
I grow too, right along with him.
I grow fully into the role of first lady.
Of mother.
Of wife.
Of hostess.
Of mistress of the White House.
Of champion of children.
Of the president’s lover.
One year turns into two, the years consisting of diapers and cradles and children’s toys, of red carpets and trumpets blaring as we receive foreign dignitaries at the White House, of black-tie events that embody the might and majesty of the United States.
Foreign leaders receive a royal welcome with the state arrival ceremony, flourishes and flags, sentinels and orchestras. The press corps waits on standby for these events, eager for a video chat. The chef plans the perfect meals, down to the perfect artistic design to present each dish.
We have stage performances. Andrea Bocelli, and the ballet. We celebrate wins from our teams, and decorate every Christmas with a gigantic tree with knitted ornaments (Matty proof).
More than that, the White House is the center where a dozen new treaties have been made. Where several natural disasters have been handled. Where big decisions and changes have begun. The White House is more than just the pomp and the politics, and more than the playground for our son.
It doesn’t belong to the president, this house; it belongs to the people.
This is where their futures begin.
“Hey.” A slow curve twists the corner of Matt’s lips when he spots Jack and me. He loosens the top two buttons of his shirt and rolls his shirtsleeves to his elbows. His groan of satisfaction at having a moment’s relaxation after a full day of work makes my nipples bead.
He drops beside me. “How was your day?”
“Good.” I inch a little closer even as he ducks his head—meeting me halfway for a short, light kiss.
“What are you two up to?” he asks, frowning at Jack and me playfully even as Jack scoots over to join the coddling, pressing his muzzle into Matt’s free hand.
“We’re enjoying the quiet. While your son sleeps.”
“How is my legacy?”
“Growing. My hips are permanently skewed outward from carrying him.”
He laughs.
“Come here, boy.” He strokes Jack behind the ear. “He’s wearing you down, isn’t he?” he asks Jack.
Jack licks Matt’s palm and makes a happy groaning sound, and Matt leaves his hand there, stroking him as he leans his head to look at me.
“You look tired.”
“I am tired. But now that you’re here, I’m getting a second wind. Tell me about your day.”
He groans. “I’d rather not wear you down even more. Tell me about yours.”
“Matty tried to mount one of the ducks in the pond, and he would’ve completely fallen in if Jack hadn’t stuck in his muzzle.”
“Really?” He arches an eyebrow at Jack, who’s just looking up adoringly at Matt with a gaze that begs his master to keep rubbing his ear. “Good boy,” he says, reaching with his free hand to stroke his thumb down my face. “You think we should get rid of the ducks, then?”
“Oh no. It’s like baby TV. Matty could watch them for hours.”
Matt laughs, his laugh making me laugh too.
Whereas we used to love to talk about politics—it was something that joined us—now we’re so immersed in it that we love talking about other things. Matt loves talking about normal things—I see him crave it, the normalcy he’s never had. But he was meant for greater things; normalcy is a luxury we don’t have. Sometimes, though, we make it for ourselves. And in those moments he’s just Matt, my husband, the father of my son, and the guy I love.
I lie on his chest and his voice is in my ear while we both pet Jack. “They have a lead.”
I nearly jump out of my skin. Not because of the words, because we’ve had leads before, but because of the true hope in Matt’s voice. “What? When? Who?” I demand.
“Patience, grasshopper,” he says, a smile touching his eyes before the somberness returns. “If all goes well, we’ll know soon enough.”
“Oh, Matt, I hope this is it,” I say, wrapping my arms around him, pressing a kiss to his neck.
I know how much he’s been looking forward to this, how every dead end has only doubled his resolution to keep his promise to his father.
Later that weekend, I have my first official outing, and we’re heading to a summit. Matthew proposed a carbon tax for all carbon-emitting industries that have been polluting the very air we breathe for years. He says that their continuing to do so is not an option.
He’s been discussing policy to me and in the meantime, I let my fingers wander along his abs, sliding along his hard stomach, to the thatch of hair underneath his belly button.
“With India, however . . .” He trails off and one of his eyebrows rises ever so slowly as he glances down at me in total interest.
I inch a bit closer and lean my head as I unzip him. He’s heavy and thick as I take him out. I curl my hands around the base of his shaft and lick the wetness at the tip, peering up to see him shut his eyes. I lick him more, and he exhales and opens his eyes, staring at me with an expression that is hot—completely raw—and the next instant his large hand is engulfing the back of my head, exerting pressure and urging me back down.
I’m rewarded by a low, pained sound. “Lick it harder,” he says. Voice rough and raw.
“Matt,” I moan.
He releases a smile as he looks down at me, eating me up with his eyes, caressing me everywhere. He tells me I’m gorgeous as he moves his finger inside me. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Charlotte?” He seizes the base of his cock and leads it to my seam. There.
Right
At
My
Opening.
My breath goes. I fist the sheets beneath me. And my eyes roll into the back of my head at the sheer pleasure of feeling my husband drive inside me again. Inch by inch. Slow. With so much care, I can feel his body vibrate.
We’re heart to heart, skin to skin, heat to heat.
He palms the side of my face, looking into my eyes. I mewl softly, tilting my hips to encourage him to move. But still he doesn’t, just looks at my whole face, our breathing ragged as he allows me to adjust to the feel of him again.
I bite my lip breathlessly. “Please,” I beg.
“I love you,” he gruffs out, brushing his thumb along my lower lip, leaning over to flick his tongue out and soothe the skin I just bit.
He starts moving—slowly, exquisitely slowly. His body powerful and in control, making love to mine. He makes love to me as if I’m a virgin, as if it’s my first time and he wants me to never forget it.
And in this moment, all my world is him as I undulate beneath him, relishing the closeness, his nearness, him. He is the most powerful man in the world. He is determined and strong and ambitious, he is noble and honest, and he is also true and unwavering—not once does his desire waver; on the contrary, even with a remaining one-month bump that I hope to be able to run off once I resume exercise, I have never felt so sexy to him, so precious, or so loved.
And on this day, the mystery of our love grows, and I realize that it keeps changing, evolving, deepening with every experience we share, every kiss not given and every kiss given, every whisper and every word unsaid. I have never in my life felt the kind of love I feel for him—and as his hands caress me tenderly, the tension in his body evident as he tries to be gentle but hinting at his simmering desire, the deep words of love he whispers in my ear, beautiful and perfect and his, I know he feels it too. And I know that this feeling is probably as mysterious to him as it is to me, and just as wondrous.
39
GROWING
Charlotte
Matt Jr. is growing so fast, he’s walking already—and absolutely has the run of the household, with everyone oohing and aahing over our charming boy.
I grow too, right along with him.
I grow fully into the role of first lady.
Of mother.
Of wife.
Of hostess.
Of mistress of the White House.
Of champion of children.
Of the president’s lover.
One year turns into two, the years consisting of diapers and cradles and children’s toys, of red carpets and trumpets blaring as we receive foreign dignitaries at the White House, of black-tie events that embody the might and majesty of the United States.
Foreign leaders receive a royal welcome with the state arrival ceremony, flourishes and flags, sentinels and orchestras. The press corps waits on standby for these events, eager for a video chat. The chef plans the perfect meals, down to the perfect artistic design to present each dish.
We have stage performances. Andrea Bocelli, and the ballet. We celebrate wins from our teams, and decorate every Christmas with a gigantic tree with knitted ornaments (Matty proof).
More than that, the White House is the center where a dozen new treaties have been made. Where several natural disasters have been handled. Where big decisions and changes have begun. The White House is more than just the pomp and the politics, and more than the playground for our son.
It doesn’t belong to the president, this house; it belongs to the people.
This is where their futures begin.
“Hey.” A slow curve twists the corner of Matt’s lips when he spots Jack and me. He loosens the top two buttons of his shirt and rolls his shirtsleeves to his elbows. His groan of satisfaction at having a moment’s relaxation after a full day of work makes my nipples bead.
He drops beside me. “How was your day?”
“Good.” I inch a little closer even as he ducks his head—meeting me halfway for a short, light kiss.
“What are you two up to?” he asks, frowning at Jack and me playfully even as Jack scoots over to join the coddling, pressing his muzzle into Matt’s free hand.
“We’re enjoying the quiet. While your son sleeps.”
“How is my legacy?”
“Growing. My hips are permanently skewed outward from carrying him.”
He laughs.
“Come here, boy.” He strokes Jack behind the ear. “He’s wearing you down, isn’t he?” he asks Jack.
Jack licks Matt’s palm and makes a happy groaning sound, and Matt leaves his hand there, stroking him as he leans his head to look at me.
“You look tired.”
“I am tired. But now that you’re here, I’m getting a second wind. Tell me about your day.”
He groans. “I’d rather not wear you down even more. Tell me about yours.”
“Matty tried to mount one of the ducks in the pond, and he would’ve completely fallen in if Jack hadn’t stuck in his muzzle.”
“Really?” He arches an eyebrow at Jack, who’s just looking up adoringly at Matt with a gaze that begs his master to keep rubbing his ear. “Good boy,” he says, reaching with his free hand to stroke his thumb down my face. “You think we should get rid of the ducks, then?”
“Oh no. It’s like baby TV. Matty could watch them for hours.”
Matt laughs, his laugh making me laugh too.
Whereas we used to love to talk about politics—it was something that joined us—now we’re so immersed in it that we love talking about other things. Matt loves talking about normal things—I see him crave it, the normalcy he’s never had. But he was meant for greater things; normalcy is a luxury we don’t have. Sometimes, though, we make it for ourselves. And in those moments he’s just Matt, my husband, the father of my son, and the guy I love.
I lie on his chest and his voice is in my ear while we both pet Jack. “They have a lead.”
I nearly jump out of my skin. Not because of the words, because we’ve had leads before, but because of the true hope in Matt’s voice. “What? When? Who?” I demand.
“Patience, grasshopper,” he says, a smile touching his eyes before the somberness returns. “If all goes well, we’ll know soon enough.”
“Oh, Matt, I hope this is it,” I say, wrapping my arms around him, pressing a kiss to his neck.
I know how much he’s been looking forward to this, how every dead end has only doubled his resolution to keep his promise to his father.
Later that weekend, I have my first official outing, and we’re heading to a summit. Matthew proposed a carbon tax for all carbon-emitting industries that have been polluting the very air we breathe for years. He says that their continuing to do so is not an option.
He’s been discussing policy to me and in the meantime, I let my fingers wander along his abs, sliding along his hard stomach, to the thatch of hair underneath his belly button.
“With India, however . . .” He trails off and one of his eyebrows rises ever so slowly as he glances down at me in total interest.
I inch a bit closer and lean my head as I unzip him. He’s heavy and thick as I take him out. I curl my hands around the base of his shaft and lick the wetness at the tip, peering up to see him shut his eyes. I lick him more, and he exhales and opens his eyes, staring at me with an expression that is hot—completely raw—and the next instant his large hand is engulfing the back of my head, exerting pressure and urging me back down.
