Mr. President
Page 49
Only after I come, with him saying shh, I got you against my lips, do I seem to return to earth.
I stand on shaky legs, and he grabs my hips and rests his forehead on mine. His eyes are lit up with heat and devilish mischief, melting me a little more—if that’s even possible.
My voice comes out breathy. “Wow.” I lift my hand and set it on his jaw, stroking him with a tenderness I’m not sure I’ve ever shown him. “It never feels like enough. I keep craving more of you.”
He turns his head, placing a soft kiss on the inside of my palm. Voice thicker and more textured than ever, he says, “We’re not done yet.”
He gingerly kisses the inside of my wrist as he draws my hand to curl it around the back of his beck.
As he brings me flush, he ducks his head and kisses me goodnight. The kiss slow and languorous, an underlying hunger in every thrust of his tongue. I’m trembling, weak from my orgasm, as he’s whispering, “I’ll see you tomorrow, beautiful,” and he pecks my lips, slowly, almost as if in gratitude, and he’s gone, telling me before he exits, “Lock up.”
The next morning, I’m flushed as I dress for work, anticipating the moment when I see him.
When the hectic pace of our campaign catches up with me and Matt spends all morning running, I almost think I made it up, it didn’t happen, all the things he said, all the ways we keep sinking deeper, but my mouth feels that last lick of his lips on mine.
And when Matt finally gets into headquarters and looks at me, the look in his beautiful dark eyes keeps reminding me that it definitely happened, and that he means for it to happen again.
26
NEVER ENOUGH OF YOU
Matt
I can’t seem to get enough of her. I’ve been biting, nibbling, kissing her, sucking her . . .
We’re in the shower and I’ve got her stripped to a camisole and flimsy white underwear.
I shift the showerhead and aim it toward Charlotte, then watch the water slide down her curves.
I take in the pink, hard little peaks of her nipples against her top. The cotton clinging to her wet body. My eyes trail downward, to the lace of her panties and her pussy visible through the wet cloth. My eyes rise, slowly, to her face, and her tongue darts out, her eyes wide with concern. There’s more than concern there. There’s yearning, and a little recklessness.
“Matt?”
My throat feels thick as I reach up to touch her cheek with my thumb, trailing it down her jaw as I lean toward her ear. “Yeah?” I say, looking into her eyes, then at her sweet mouth.
The mouth I want beneath mine again. Here, there’s no reason for me not to take it, devour its softness until she gasps. I inch down and slide my arms around her waist, pulling her closer, then I brush her wet mouth with my lips.
I’m using her. I can’t use her like this. But I can’t stop myself.
My alarm wakes me.
I jerk my arm out and shut it off, then pull back the covers and head to the shower stall. Ten minutes under the cold water and I still can’t cool down, counting the hours until I can get her alone again.
“I want to see Charlotte tonight. I need your assistance again.”
Wilson glances at me as we have coffee in my suite at The Jefferson, waiting for the rest of my team to get their asses over here.
Wilson eyes me in silence, then drags his hand over his bald head. “What are you doing, Matt? I thought you worked this shit out of your system in college, man.”
I shake my head. “It’s not what you think—it’s different with her.” I meet his gaze. “I want you to treat her differently. I want you to protect her as if she were me. If this shit gets out, I don’t want Hessler or Carlisle throwing her under the bus.”
“It won’t get out. Not on my watch,” Wilson states.
I clench my jaw and stare into my coffee and just see her. Only her.
“I can’t not pursue her. I can’t give her up yet.” I laugh sardonically. “You probably think it’s an obsession . . . but it’s more than that. She means more than that.”
She grounds me.
She obsesses me.
She fuels me.
This woman not only makes me want to be a great man, she makes me want to be the best goddamn president that ever lived.
She’s what I never knew I wanted and have discovered that I need.
I know full well I’m going to have to give her up soon—but I can’t bring myself to give her up yet.
Wilson nods. “I got your back.”
27
INTENSE
Charlotte
Before we left D.C., Matt booked us a suite at a small five-star hotel, where he had one of D.C.’s best restaurants deliver an amazing dinner. It felt like a very secret, very wonderful date with the man the country swoons over and the one that I am slowly and secretly falling for, and now each time our eyes have met afterward, it seems like we’re both remembering that evening and the night of hot sex we shared.
Unfortunately, the last time for a while.
Over the past two weeks, we’ve been intensely campaigning. The race feels so real now. We’re in Matt’s suite at the Wynn Hotel in Las Vegas. The work has been so consuming, we haven’t had the opportunity to enjoy any more private moments save for one—all the others have been stolen seconds that almost always happen with a room full of people.
A kiss here.
A brush of his fingers there.
Hessler, a man with even less sense of humor than Carlisle, seems to have cracked his first smile in all the months that I’ve known him as he skims the most recent poll results. “Polls are giving you the lead.”
“No time to sit back and sing a victory song just yet,” Matt says, his Starbucks in hand.
I’ve already finished my coffee.
When coffee fails to do the trick to keep you awake, it’s really time to switch to Red Bull.
I’m barely awake right now.
I’m sitting on the couch, and my head is leaning on my hand as I try to keep my eyes open. I don’t want to miss a single word from the anchors on TV, and at the same time, hearing the men’s conversation swirling around me lulls me to sleep. Since we’ve started, it’s been so many months of extensive traveling and nights like this.
I stand on shaky legs, and he grabs my hips and rests his forehead on mine. His eyes are lit up with heat and devilish mischief, melting me a little more—if that’s even possible.
My voice comes out breathy. “Wow.” I lift my hand and set it on his jaw, stroking him with a tenderness I’m not sure I’ve ever shown him. “It never feels like enough. I keep craving more of you.”
He turns his head, placing a soft kiss on the inside of my palm. Voice thicker and more textured than ever, he says, “We’re not done yet.”
He gingerly kisses the inside of my wrist as he draws my hand to curl it around the back of his beck.
As he brings me flush, he ducks his head and kisses me goodnight. The kiss slow and languorous, an underlying hunger in every thrust of his tongue. I’m trembling, weak from my orgasm, as he’s whispering, “I’ll see you tomorrow, beautiful,” and he pecks my lips, slowly, almost as if in gratitude, and he’s gone, telling me before he exits, “Lock up.”
The next morning, I’m flushed as I dress for work, anticipating the moment when I see him.
When the hectic pace of our campaign catches up with me and Matt spends all morning running, I almost think I made it up, it didn’t happen, all the things he said, all the ways we keep sinking deeper, but my mouth feels that last lick of his lips on mine.
And when Matt finally gets into headquarters and looks at me, the look in his beautiful dark eyes keeps reminding me that it definitely happened, and that he means for it to happen again.
26
NEVER ENOUGH OF YOU
Matt
I can’t seem to get enough of her. I’ve been biting, nibbling, kissing her, sucking her . . .
We’re in the shower and I’ve got her stripped to a camisole and flimsy white underwear.
I shift the showerhead and aim it toward Charlotte, then watch the water slide down her curves.
I take in the pink, hard little peaks of her nipples against her top. The cotton clinging to her wet body. My eyes trail downward, to the lace of her panties and her pussy visible through the wet cloth. My eyes rise, slowly, to her face, and her tongue darts out, her eyes wide with concern. There’s more than concern there. There’s yearning, and a little recklessness.
“Matt?”
My throat feels thick as I reach up to touch her cheek with my thumb, trailing it down her jaw as I lean toward her ear. “Yeah?” I say, looking into her eyes, then at her sweet mouth.
The mouth I want beneath mine again. Here, there’s no reason for me not to take it, devour its softness until she gasps. I inch down and slide my arms around her waist, pulling her closer, then I brush her wet mouth with my lips.
I’m using her. I can’t use her like this. But I can’t stop myself.
My alarm wakes me.
I jerk my arm out and shut it off, then pull back the covers and head to the shower stall. Ten minutes under the cold water and I still can’t cool down, counting the hours until I can get her alone again.
“I want to see Charlotte tonight. I need your assistance again.”
Wilson glances at me as we have coffee in my suite at The Jefferson, waiting for the rest of my team to get their asses over here.
Wilson eyes me in silence, then drags his hand over his bald head. “What are you doing, Matt? I thought you worked this shit out of your system in college, man.”
I shake my head. “It’s not what you think—it’s different with her.” I meet his gaze. “I want you to treat her differently. I want you to protect her as if she were me. If this shit gets out, I don’t want Hessler or Carlisle throwing her under the bus.”
“It won’t get out. Not on my watch,” Wilson states.
I clench my jaw and stare into my coffee and just see her. Only her.
“I can’t not pursue her. I can’t give her up yet.” I laugh sardonically. “You probably think it’s an obsession . . . but it’s more than that. She means more than that.”
She grounds me.
She obsesses me.
She fuels me.
This woman not only makes me want to be a great man, she makes me want to be the best goddamn president that ever lived.
She’s what I never knew I wanted and have discovered that I need.
I know full well I’m going to have to give her up soon—but I can’t bring myself to give her up yet.
Wilson nods. “I got your back.”
27
INTENSE
Charlotte
Before we left D.C., Matt booked us a suite at a small five-star hotel, where he had one of D.C.’s best restaurants deliver an amazing dinner. It felt like a very secret, very wonderful date with the man the country swoons over and the one that I am slowly and secretly falling for, and now each time our eyes have met afterward, it seems like we’re both remembering that evening and the night of hot sex we shared.
Unfortunately, the last time for a while.
Over the past two weeks, we’ve been intensely campaigning. The race feels so real now. We’re in Matt’s suite at the Wynn Hotel in Las Vegas. The work has been so consuming, we haven’t had the opportunity to enjoy any more private moments save for one—all the others have been stolen seconds that almost always happen with a room full of people.
A kiss here.
A brush of his fingers there.
Hessler, a man with even less sense of humor than Carlisle, seems to have cracked his first smile in all the months that I’ve known him as he skims the most recent poll results. “Polls are giving you the lead.”
“No time to sit back and sing a victory song just yet,” Matt says, his Starbucks in hand.
I’ve already finished my coffee.
When coffee fails to do the trick to keep you awake, it’s really time to switch to Red Bull.
I’m barely awake right now.
I’m sitting on the couch, and my head is leaning on my hand as I try to keep my eyes open. I don’t want to miss a single word from the anchors on TV, and at the same time, hearing the men’s conversation swirling around me lulls me to sleep. Since we’ve started, it’s been so many months of extensive traveling and nights like this.
