Mr. President
Page 48
Nothing but silence and his eyes tracing my shoulder, up my neck, to my lips, then looking straight into my eyes.
I’ve lost all power to breathe.
He always towers over me when he’s close and right now he looks all male, dark, and there’s a little bit too much testosterone in the air.
Matt has never looked sexier than he does now, standing there battling a battle I don’t want him to win.
I lick my lips and gather my courage as I shrug off the next shoulder and draw up my arms to cover my front. I watch his face, afraid of his rejection, afraid of my own recklessness.
I should probably stop right now.
No. Matt should probably stop me right now.
I should get out of his personal space, or more likely he should get out of mine, and yet I let the shirt drop, and Matt remains before me, his eyes fixed on my face—dark like twilight.
More silence.
Matt is so focused, so passionate; I’ve never seen such passion in a man’s eyes before when he talks about the United States of America. I love it, but I also love the way he looks at me with the same passion now. Me. Just me.
He can have any woman he wants—and yet he chooses nobody. He’s chosen his country for now, and I know I should respect that. What are you doing, Charlotte?!
The seconds pulse, and I stand before him in my skirt and bra.
I can’t think of anything when he lifts his hand to touch me and slowly drags his knuckles, up from my belly button, between my breasts, up my neck, then back down.
A caress, soft as a feather, the bump of his knuckles barely grazing my skin—his gaze grazing mine with that gentleness, and a tormented frustration I’d never seen there before. It’s etched in every line of his handsome, perfect face—in the line of his jaw, the set of his lips, as if they’re pressed together to keep from pressing against mine.
I have no words for the things—the want—that I’m feeling.
I’ve never wanted anything the way I want—need—for Matt to kiss me right now.
I can barely speak. “Do you believe me now?” I swallow. “Aren’t you going to stop me from . . . from taking off the rest?”
He runs his knuckles up my torso again, this time up my throat, where he spreads his fingers open under my jawline, his open hand encompassing my face as the heel of his hand cradles my chin.
“Quiet now. I’m going to look at you for a long, long time.” His hot eyes turn my bones to cinders.
I swallow, dazed with desire under his gaze.
He brushes a kiss across my cheek, his breath warm. “I’m going to make these cheeks flush bright red with the ways I’m going to let my fingers play with you,” he says, then he leaves his nose there and inhales against my skin.
He caresses up my sides, his nose grazing my ear now.
“You’re so passionate . . . You’ve got more love for your country than anyone I’ve ever seen. And it drives me crazy when all that fire comes alive for me. I won’t mind watching that fire burn right now.”
My voice is thick with lust and longing. “Our country is wonderful,” I say, only responding to the first comment. And you’re wonderful in bed, I think to myself, but I’m not feeding his ego anymore. The world does that in excess already.
“You know what would be wonderful?” he says, twitching his lips thoughtfully to the side.
He cups my ass in his hands.
“What would be exquisite?” he continues.
He squeezes the mounds and in one jerk, pins me flat against his chest.
“You.”
He dips his head.
And Matt is kissing me. Hard. Almost as if punishing me for the Mark thing, for tempting him, for I don’t even know what.
His tongue thrusts, that first thrust wet and hard and oh so good. His grip tightens on my neck, possessive. He deepens the kiss, if that’s even possible. “I thought of this mouth all weekend. And these gorgeous breasts . . .”
He curls one hand around my breast, the other on the back of my neck.
His hand is warm and gentle on my nape and as he fondles my breast. The touch is so wanted, all I can do is absorb the feel of that large hand teasing my nipple, breaking me apart. While the other is cupping the back of my neck as if it alone holds my spine together, keeps my body from falling, my cells locked together.
He looks down at me and pinches my nipple and pulls me closer a little roughly, and I hold my breath—a breath that is scented with him.
His lips curl a little, and heat charges down my body.
I inhale sharply when he lifts his hand and runs it up my curves, looking into my eyes as he traces the contours. Flesh and blood.
But he looks at me as if he thinks I’m made of something else.
His fingers edge into my waistband and then into my panties as he starts gently kissing me again.
I open my mouth and breathe, “Matt.”
He inhales me, then starts kissing my lips again. Hot. Firm. Urgent.
I groan and wrap my arm around his neck.
“Matt—I didn’t think. You need to go,” I groan, pushing my tongue into his mouth, grabbing fistfuls of his silky hair. “I know that this is . . . we can’t . . . are you going to stop or am I going to have to stop you? Please don’t make me stop you. I don’t know if I can . . .” I groan.
I not only worry that my neighbor will hear us, that a scandal will erupt, but I also don’t know how much more of him I can take before I hit the point of no return.
Or maybe I’ve already reached that point.
There won’t ever—ever—be a man who excites me like this one.
He’s all I breathe, all I see, all I want as he lifts me up to the kitchen counter, and I gasp in surprise but hang onto his shoulders for support.
He reaches under my skirt to pull down my panties. His eyes meet mine and hold them in his penetrating gaze as he takes my mouth with his and starts rubbing my folds between his fingers.
I don’t know how to feel, how to react—my world is fragmenting, piece by piece; there is no reality, nothing but my arms around his neck, clenching, and his hot mouth, and his expert fingers, giving me what I need.
“Matt.”
He holds me on the kitchen counter and my knees are weak as he opens up my thighs to make more room for his fingers.
Need burns fiery bright as he slides two inside me. Cupping my breast in his hand, caressing. Pulling his mouth free of mine to roam down my neck, to suck on a nipple. I break apart in his arms, beneath his touch and his kiss.
I’ve lost all power to breathe.
He always towers over me when he’s close and right now he looks all male, dark, and there’s a little bit too much testosterone in the air.
Matt has never looked sexier than he does now, standing there battling a battle I don’t want him to win.
I lick my lips and gather my courage as I shrug off the next shoulder and draw up my arms to cover my front. I watch his face, afraid of his rejection, afraid of my own recklessness.
I should probably stop right now.
No. Matt should probably stop me right now.
I should get out of his personal space, or more likely he should get out of mine, and yet I let the shirt drop, and Matt remains before me, his eyes fixed on my face—dark like twilight.
More silence.
Matt is so focused, so passionate; I’ve never seen such passion in a man’s eyes before when he talks about the United States of America. I love it, but I also love the way he looks at me with the same passion now. Me. Just me.
He can have any woman he wants—and yet he chooses nobody. He’s chosen his country for now, and I know I should respect that. What are you doing, Charlotte?!
The seconds pulse, and I stand before him in my skirt and bra.
I can’t think of anything when he lifts his hand to touch me and slowly drags his knuckles, up from my belly button, between my breasts, up my neck, then back down.
A caress, soft as a feather, the bump of his knuckles barely grazing my skin—his gaze grazing mine with that gentleness, and a tormented frustration I’d never seen there before. It’s etched in every line of his handsome, perfect face—in the line of his jaw, the set of his lips, as if they’re pressed together to keep from pressing against mine.
I have no words for the things—the want—that I’m feeling.
I’ve never wanted anything the way I want—need—for Matt to kiss me right now.
I can barely speak. “Do you believe me now?” I swallow. “Aren’t you going to stop me from . . . from taking off the rest?”
He runs his knuckles up my torso again, this time up my throat, where he spreads his fingers open under my jawline, his open hand encompassing my face as the heel of his hand cradles my chin.
“Quiet now. I’m going to look at you for a long, long time.” His hot eyes turn my bones to cinders.
I swallow, dazed with desire under his gaze.
He brushes a kiss across my cheek, his breath warm. “I’m going to make these cheeks flush bright red with the ways I’m going to let my fingers play with you,” he says, then he leaves his nose there and inhales against my skin.
He caresses up my sides, his nose grazing my ear now.
“You’re so passionate . . . You’ve got more love for your country than anyone I’ve ever seen. And it drives me crazy when all that fire comes alive for me. I won’t mind watching that fire burn right now.”
My voice is thick with lust and longing. “Our country is wonderful,” I say, only responding to the first comment. And you’re wonderful in bed, I think to myself, but I’m not feeding his ego anymore. The world does that in excess already.
“You know what would be wonderful?” he says, twitching his lips thoughtfully to the side.
He cups my ass in his hands.
“What would be exquisite?” he continues.
He squeezes the mounds and in one jerk, pins me flat against his chest.
“You.”
He dips his head.
And Matt is kissing me. Hard. Almost as if punishing me for the Mark thing, for tempting him, for I don’t even know what.
His tongue thrusts, that first thrust wet and hard and oh so good. His grip tightens on my neck, possessive. He deepens the kiss, if that’s even possible. “I thought of this mouth all weekend. And these gorgeous breasts . . .”
He curls one hand around my breast, the other on the back of my neck.
His hand is warm and gentle on my nape and as he fondles my breast. The touch is so wanted, all I can do is absorb the feel of that large hand teasing my nipple, breaking me apart. While the other is cupping the back of my neck as if it alone holds my spine together, keeps my body from falling, my cells locked together.
He looks down at me and pinches my nipple and pulls me closer a little roughly, and I hold my breath—a breath that is scented with him.
His lips curl a little, and heat charges down my body.
I inhale sharply when he lifts his hand and runs it up my curves, looking into my eyes as he traces the contours. Flesh and blood.
But he looks at me as if he thinks I’m made of something else.
His fingers edge into my waistband and then into my panties as he starts gently kissing me again.
I open my mouth and breathe, “Matt.”
He inhales me, then starts kissing my lips again. Hot. Firm. Urgent.
I groan and wrap my arm around his neck.
“Matt—I didn’t think. You need to go,” I groan, pushing my tongue into his mouth, grabbing fistfuls of his silky hair. “I know that this is . . . we can’t . . . are you going to stop or am I going to have to stop you? Please don’t make me stop you. I don’t know if I can . . .” I groan.
I not only worry that my neighbor will hear us, that a scandal will erupt, but I also don’t know how much more of him I can take before I hit the point of no return.
Or maybe I’ve already reached that point.
There won’t ever—ever—be a man who excites me like this one.
He’s all I breathe, all I see, all I want as he lifts me up to the kitchen counter, and I gasp in surprise but hang onto his shoulders for support.
He reaches under my skirt to pull down my panties. His eyes meet mine and hold them in his penetrating gaze as he takes my mouth with his and starts rubbing my folds between his fingers.
I don’t know how to feel, how to react—my world is fragmenting, piece by piece; there is no reality, nothing but my arms around his neck, clenching, and his hot mouth, and his expert fingers, giving me what I need.
“Matt.”
He holds me on the kitchen counter and my knees are weak as he opens up my thighs to make more room for his fingers.
Need burns fiery bright as he slides two inside me. Cupping my breast in his hand, caressing. Pulling his mouth free of mine to roam down my neck, to suck on a nipple. I break apart in his arms, beneath his touch and his kiss.
