I’m curled against his side. My mouth is probably red. I love that his mouth is red from my kisses too, his hair is rumpled, and even in this state, he looks like he could take on the world.
And then I’m reminded that soon, he will.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand, wanting time to stand still. Wishing we could stay in this moment. For our lives to be different. Him just a guy. Me just a girl. The two of us just here, with no expectations from anyone but each other. No campaign. No media scrutiny. No guilt for knowing our actions affect not only us but those around us—the team. My parents. His mom . . . the country.
“Your mother isn’t thrilled that you’re running, is she?” I ask, stroking my finger up his chest as the tips of his fingers feather my back.
Matt peers into my face, looking puzzled and amused that I chose to ask him something about the campaign rather than what just happened. “How do you know?”
“She has avoided every event and isn’t speaking about it.”
He drags his hand over his face, then curls his arm behind him as he slides his hand under his pillow. “She worries.”
He tightens his other arm around me and I curl closer, craving his warmth.
Matt is staring at the ceiling, thoughtful. I know they’re close, he and his mother. And I really feel for his mother. Her husband was brutally killed. Matt is all she has; of course she’s concerned. But I can see Matt wouldn’t be a man to back down for anything. “Matt? When you told me about your biggest fear?” I pause for a moment. “Mine is to disappoint my parents. To fail to be whatever it is they wanted me to be, somebody great, responsible, respectable. Look at me now.” I groan.
He peers into my face, thoughtful. Just a bit concerned. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” He runs his fingertip down my nose. “America’s playboy and America’s sweetheart.”
I grin up at him, still breathless. “They may have thought you were just a gorgeous face, but they take you seriously now.”
“I take them seriously. And I take you seriously.” He strokes his hand down my face, his gaze so very warm and endearing. “I don’t want you hurt. This shouldn’t even be happening. I shouldn’t have my hands on you.” He strokes a path down my body with those hands, the most delicious hands. Then, he ducks his head and adds, “I definitely shouldn’t do this.” He cups my sex in his hand and grazes a kiss along my cheek.
I grab his jaw and pull him to my mouth, whispering, “Yes, you should.”
He shifts above me, all stealth and muscles. “I can’t get enough of you, beautiful. I just can’t get enough.”
He’s so hard he immediately rolls on a new condom.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders as he drives slowly in, as if I’m precious. Or as if he knows I’m a little sore.
He moves inside me. I groan and relish it, clawing my nails down his back.
I move beneath him. I know that it’s crazy, dangerous, terrible for both of us. And I know that it’s also exciting, inevitable, and nothing I could even contemplate denying myself.
I cannot deny myself him. If I want to stop crushing on him, even after eleven years, he will be the only antidote.
Linking my hands behind his thick neck, I raise my head and set my lips on him. I’m hungry, moaning as Matt grabs my face to hold me still and tongues me.
23
SHIFTS
Charlotte
When I arrive at campaign headquarters early Monday morning, I’m not entirely certain if I should be feeling dread,
anxiety,
uncertainty,
fear,
arousal,
bliss,
or plain just happiness.
All I know is that I can still feel him between my legs.
Visions of Saturday flutter in my mind throughout the day and serve as beautiful, fleeting reminders of a night I will never forget.
There is a visible shift, invisible to anyone other than Matt and me. Every time we lock gazes there’s a silent understanding that we now share something special.
Every time I hear the sound of his voice direct his staff or make campaign-related decisions, I remember it whispering dirty things in my ear, moaning my name, groaning in release. Multiple times.
Things have changed. I’ve been with him in the most intimate ways anyone can be with another, and it feels absolutely blissful. When I look at him, I get giddy and my heart starts to beat faster and faster. If anyone spoke to me at that moment, I wouldn’t hear whoever it was over the sound of my heartbeat, going crazy over this man.
There is a change in him too.
It’s as if his masculinity has been multiplied by a thousand. His smile holds more mischief. His walk is now more a confident strut, and god, his voice . . . He could be talking about state taxes and by the tone in his voice, you would think he’s describing sex positions.