Mr. President(65)

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.

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.”