See, those are the things you categorize under “surreal”, or maybe even “mind-blowing.”
Knowing my new post was going to be a pain in the ass I was prepared for. Knowing that in a few months when they break the silence and announce their impending wedding that I’ll be taken off the service and have my whole life turned around as the new step-son to the President of the United States I was even sort of starting to prepare myself for.
But walking into the oval office and locking eyes with the last girl in the fucking world I would ever in a million years expect to see again - let alone here - takes the wind right out of me.
Because it’s not the Norman Rockwell painting, or the famous Resolute desk dominating the far end of the office, or that photograph of Gorbachev shaking hands with Reagan that I lock onto.
It’s the pair of deep green eyes and those soft, pouty pink lips that I’d know anywhere.
But those sexy, smoldering eyes weren’t scowling at me before; not that night when they were squeezed shut in ecstasy. And that mouth with those perfect, pouty, utterly fuckable lips wasn’t hanging open in absolute horror before.
That night it was moaning as her fingernails scratched my skin and her body shuddered and rocked against me while she came.
Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck was the first daughter of the United States doing at a Goddamn sex club?
It’s the place out of a dark fantasy; the place that embodies the wicked and erotic underside of Washington. And, I might add, the place I only got into that night by pulling every single string and connection I had. The place with the masks and no names.
“What’s your name?”
She grins, those sensual lips pulling back as her eyes flash through the shadow cast by her mask.
“Not supposed to tell.” Her tongue slides out, wetting those lips and making my cock throb in my tuxedo. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to ask, either. Those are the rules.”
“Maybe I’m just bad at doing what I’m told.”
It’s not even a line I’d ever use, but it seems like something someone in this place would say; whatever “this place” is. I mean, shit, I like pussy as much as the next guy - probably more than the next guy if we’re being honest. But a secret, underground, members-only sex club complete with a password at the door and phonetician masks like something out of a Kubrick movie? Yeah, that’s a first.
She doesn’t say anything in response to my line, so I step closer. She doesn’t pull back.
“How about you, beautiful.” I slide my hand up her arm, her skin like silk as I pull her against me. I can feel her body immediately give and melt against mine. “Are you good at doing what you’re told?”
Those lips grin again, and I can see her chest hitch with a breath under the slinky black dress she wears. “Guess you’ll just have to tell me and see if I behave.”
Oh fuck me. She wants this as much as I do. This is fast and forward, even for ME, and I want to say there’s something about the air in this place, or the drinks, or the thumping, sensual music. Or maybe the fact that there are people slowly taking clothes off and coming together in pairs and threes and more all around us in the sultry dim light.
But it ain’t the place; it’s her.
It’s something in the way I can’t tear my eyes away from her. Something about whatever scent she’s got lightly brushed across her neck that invades my mind. Or maybe something about the way those lips just beg for it.
I pull her to me, and she whimpers as my lips crush against hers. I’m pulling at the strap of her dress, right there in the corner shadows of the billiards room, but she stops me, her eyes flashing something different; something quick.
“Not here-” It’s the first chink in that sultry, sassy armor, but I get it.
“Can we-”
“Come with me.” And then I’m pulling her through the slow undulation of the room around us. Past bodies wearing only masks and the sheen of ecstasy as they move together. But we’re leaving all that madness behind as I pull her into the dark of the empty bedroom and lock the door behind us before shoving her up against it and devouring her mouth with my own.
And then it’s just her and me, and everything that two forces like that coming together brings.
I blink, and I’m back in this room now; this room that’s the polar fucking opposite of that room and everything that went on there. And right then, as I glance from my father, to my younger brother Dexter slumped in one of the couches and rolling his eyes, to our new President looking stern behind her desk, to Madison-fucking-Adams - my soon to be stepsister - that the last puzzle piece clicks into place.