Commander in Chief

  I grip the base of him and suck him deep, our eyes still connected.

  Another deep sound rumbles up his chest as he touches the back of my throat, and I swallow, unable to stop making a noise of pleasure too. God, I love him so much, I want him so much.

  I ache between my thighs, but I love touching him, having him between my lips, pleasuring him. I run one of my hands up his hard thighs and his abs, and he smiles a little.

  “You’re going to make me lose it,” he rasps, moving his fingers in my hair, his fingertips caressing my scalp.

  I pull back, easing back on his cock so I can whisper, “Lose it.”

  He laughs a little, shakes his head, then narrows his eyes as I take him in again, and he’s hard and he looks like he’s doing everything possible not to lose it—so he can make it last.

  He grips my hair in a fist and begins to thrust rhythmically. God, I’m the one losing it so bad. I sink him in deeper, watching him, stroking my hand along his ab muscles, unsure of whether he’s the one setting the rhythm as he drives into my mouth or if it’s my head, moving frantically up and down.

  He lets a low sound loose and grabs the back of my head a bit firmer, and I’m so hot I feel myself shiver as Matt feeds himself into my mouth, not once taking his eyes off me, not even when he finally lets himself go, his eyes flashing with passion as he comes with a soft growl, driving in as deep as he can so that I’ll get to drink every last drop in him.

  He zips up when we’re done, grinning. “Your turn.” He grabs me by the hips and lifts me to his shoulders, carrying me to my bedroom.

  I squeak, laughing, my arms going around his neck. “This is supposed to be about you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, it’s about me.” He smirks as he drops me on the bed and slowly starts pulling down the zipper on the side of my dress.

  When we’re done, we lie in my bed for hours, naked and spent. It’s nighttime already, and I’ve been wanting to hear all about Africa, but I sense he’s tired, his voice groggy, his expression thoughtful. He seems to be keener to talk about me and what I’ve been up to.

  “What else but planning your wedding?” I frown. “It’s not easy to plan a thousand-guest wedding in a month.”

  He smiles, running his hand over the back of my head, looking at me with that quiet possessiveness I’ve come to know so well.

  “The team wants to know if we’ll agree to have the wedding televised.” I study his chiseled features. “What do you think?”

  “I’m all right either way.” His eyebrows furrow thoughtfully. “We can’t hold a secret wedding—now that we’ve come out. I have no problem coming full out if that’s what you want to do.”

  “I don’t know. I know you like your privacy, but these four years, they don’t come with that. Everyone is so excited.” I shrug. “There’s no reason why only the bad things need to make the news—we can put a good thing on the news too.”

  “Then let’s go for it,” he says easily.

  “And the vows? Will we write our own?”

  “No,” he says. “The traditional vows say everything I want to say, and whatever more there is, I’d like them to be ours.” He cups my face and rolls over on top of me, looking into my eyes. “If I want to say more, I’ll tell it to you. In private. I might let the public enjoy you a little bit, but you’re mine. Just mine.”

  He kisses me, and before we leave, we make love one more time.

  I thought we were heading to the White House, and I’m surprised when the state car stops at a five-star steak restaurant, very well known in D.C.

  Wilson tells Matt, “Everything is ready, sir.”

  And suddenly Matt is pulling me out of the car and into the restaurant.

  A restaurant that seems to have been fully vacated for us to have dinner in private.

  “What is this?” I ask, eyes wide as I look at Matthew.

  “I can’t marry you without an official first date. Now can I?” He pulls out a chair at a table by the window with a small candle flickering at its center, and I sit down and watch in awe as he takes the seat across from mine.

  “I haven’t even eaten and this is already the best date I’ve ever had in my life.”

  He rewards me with a delicious laugh.

  And I remember the wink of a young man teasing a little girl, so many years ago.

  “You do like every man’s attention on you, don’t you,” he teases me.

  “Not every man’s, just the ones who capture mine,” I joke.

  “I’d better be the only one now,” he says.

  I smile, glancing at the engagement ring on my finger.

  I slide my hand over the table, seizing his. “I love you,” I say, breathless and swooning inside.

  He places a kiss on the back of my hand. “I love you too, baby.”

  I move the index finger and thumb of my free hand an inch apart over the table. “This much?”

  “Not that much.”

  “Matthew!” I chide, pulling my hand free with a playful scowl.

  Soon, several waiters approach us with a bottle of their best wine.

  “Mr. President, First Lady. An honor to serve you tonight.”

  While the waiter uncorks the wine, Matt looks at the menu. “Bring us all of the house specialties. Bring us each a different plate so we can taste them all.”

  “Absolutely, Mr. President.”

  We drink a light red wine, and once the plates are on the table, he looks at me, his espresso eyes piercing intuitively into mine. “How’s your lemon sole?” he asks as we dig in.

  “Oh, so good.” And it really is.

  He reaches out with his fork and steals a little piece from my plate, slipping it into his mouth. “Hmm, that is good.”

  I pick up a piece of cut steak from his plate and speak through the corner of my mouth as I savor. “That’s good too.”

  He pushes his plate in my direction, takes mine, and brings it over to his side. I actually have no problem with that.

  “I always seem to like what you’re eating better than what I’m eating,” I say, digging into his rib eye.

  “You’re a classic case of grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side, Miss Wells.”

  “Says the guy devouring my lemon sole.”

  “Pretty good. Do you want to try the chocolate mousse cake?”

  “I would, but we’ll need an ambulance at the ready outside.”

  He summons one of the staff, and a waitress hurries over. “One chocolate mousse cake, one homemade cheesecake. And an ambulance.” He grins and winks exaggeratedly at me.

  The waitress smiles dotingly and flushes. “Yes, sir.”

  We finish our desserts, and Matt leaves a huge tip and tells the staff he’ll take care of the bill from his office.

  “Do I need a stretcher to bring you out?” he asks me. His eyes are brilliant with mischief, his smile amused.

  “No. I can walk. Barely,” I add, loving how his arm still comes around me.

  “Thank you, Matt,” I breathe, going up on tiptoes and kissing his jaw.

  The following week, we’re getting dozens of confirmations from the foreign dignitaries who plan to attend the wedding as they receive our invitations.

  Press conferences are the thing of the day, though Matt doesn’t attend them all. Lola has been delivering the news as it comes—the press wants every detail, down to what gifts we’re receiving, and since Matt has no intention of warring with the press over details, neither do I. I’m simply happy the country is getting swept up on cloud nine, right along with me.

  24

  A PRESIDENTIAL WEDDING

  Charlotte

  The gifts start arriving the week before the wedding, vetted by the Secret Service before they reach Matt’s and my sight. The President of China sends an American flag sculpture, cast in bronze. The Prime Minister of Canada sends a pair of swans that will find a home in the south fountain of the White House. The President of Mexico asked for special permission to send a mariachi band t
o sing to us on the evening of our wedding. Soon the rooms of the White House are piling up with gifts from all over the world.

  And I’ll never forget this day.

  Today, the Senate passed Matt’s first bill for education.

  The White House is buzzing at full capacity as everyone gets ready for the event.

  I get my makeup done early, and everyone has been very stern with Matt, telling him that he needs to keep out of the Queens’ Bedroom—that he can’t see me until I head to the altar.

  The day begins with a parade down Pennsylvania Avenue that the citizens are welcome to attend. They pile down the streets to a twenty-one-gun salute while workers set up a line of tall white tents along the Rose Garden.

  Banquet tables with grand arrangements of baby’s breath and peonies line the tents, their scent, along with the scent of the roses, filling the air.

  I wear a dress with a plunging back, a long train, and a veil made of the most exquisite lace.

  Matt and I settled, along with the chef, on a four-course meal with wine pairings, including crab and Bibb salad with pear and goat cheese, butternut squash soup, roast lamb with rosemary vegetables and poached Maine lobster, and my favorite dessert of the White House, the chef’s special apple pie cheesecake. All served on silver-rimmed plates that look gorgeous over the ivory silk tablecloths and with the gilded silver chairs.

  Among our wedding guests are twenty-one presidents and their first ladies, two prime ministers, NBA players, Hollywood directors, actors and singers, Nobel prize winners, all of the children of the Children’s National hospital, and our families and friends.

  But with my groom in the vicinity, even all of them combined play a second fiddle to him—the POTUS, in a sharp black tux, wearing one of his most charming, disarming smiles as he watches me walk down the long red carpet in the gorgeous White House Rose Garden with a train of white ruffles trailing behind me, finally making me his. Finally his in every sense of the word.

  Matt looks stunning with his bow tie and crisp white shirt, the small flag pin of the United States pinned to his jacket.

  Hot.

  Powerful.

  And mine.

  With the backdrop of the gardens behind him and the thousands of white roses up the trellis behind the makeshift altar, I cannot believe that today America’s prince, who now so easily wears the king’s crown, is marrying me.

  Today he’ll be taking his second oath of the year—the two most important of his life, in the same year.

  The best thing of all, as I walk down the aisle, is the smile on his face. It’s a subtle smile, not overtly wide, but combined with the quiet, intense, brilliant look in his eyes as he watches me approach, along with the chorus music, it makes a knot form in my throat as my dad walks me down the long red-carpeted aisle.

  My dad is clenching his jaw really tight and his eyes are a little red, and I can’t imagine what my father is feeling to see his only daughter get married . . . to this man.

  “You take care of her, Matthew,” my father murmurs as he hands me over, and Matthew assures him, “I will, sir.”

  His fingers slide over to grip mine and he locks eyes with me as he leads me up the two steps to the altar to stand before the priest.

  Beneath the flowing skirts of my dress, my thighs feel flowy, like I’m made of air.

  I know that we’re being televised and I keep wanting to restrain myself from getting overly emotional, but my eyes keep stinging, simply being aware of his powerful presence beside mine.

  When we face each other to deliver our vows, I’m sure my throat has caught fire and there’s no chance of swallowing at all.

  His voice, so firm and commanding but with an edge of huskiness to it, kills me most of all.

  “I, Matthew, take you, Charlotte, for my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.”

  My voice comes out steady but soft. “I, Charlotte, take you, Matthew, for my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.”

  The ceremony continues, and I memorize the way Matt stands there. He’s not one bit emotional. He simply looks certain. So certain of becoming my husband, making me his wife.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride, sir,” the priest says.

  Matthew raises his brows at me as if saying you’re done for, now, and he tugs me closer, the sparkle in his eyes a full-on blaze as his gaze falls to my mouth.

  He rubs my lower lip with his thumb, and he keeps his thumb beneath my lip as he frames my face in both hands and sets the most delicious, the most tender, and the most firm and confident kiss ever on my lips.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. The President of the United States, and the First Lady!”

  Beckett slaps Matt’s back and I embrace Kayla as cheers erupt. Then Matt leads us down the aisle, and I’m laughing because of the crowd and cheers and the camera flashes, so wild and blinding, and I love that I feel his smile against the back of my hand as he kisses my knuckles.

  25

  FOR LUCK

  Matt

  “Long life, President Hamilton!”

  I pull her to the dance floor, and I want to devour this girl. I want to run my mouth all over that sweet, smiling face, kiss the lips she’s been gnawing nervously all day, slowly unbutton the buttons on the back of her dress and have my way with her.

  I feel invincible, like I can do it all, have it all.

  And as I twirl her and hear her laugh, then hear her sigh when I pull her back up against my chest, I know for certain—I want for nothing more.

  I used to argue with my father, those last few years.

  “Why would you marry a woman if you weren’t going to pay attention to her?”

  “One day you’ll meet a woman, Matthew, that you’ll have to make yours.”

  “I’m not that selfish.”

  Well, Father, turns out I am. But I’m determined to make her happy. I won’t do what he did.

  Once our dance is finished, she dances with her father, and as I pull my mother to the dance floor, I’m sure she’s struggling with the same thoughts I am. That he should have been here. That he’d have been as proud as Charlotte’s father looks tonight.

  “I’m finding his killer,” I tell her.

  “Matt, don’t. It’s pointless.”

  “It’s not pointless,” I counter.

  “Matthew, please . . .”

  “Hey,” I stop her. “This is the United States of America. You don’t kill a man and get your happily ever after. Not here.”

  “Oh, Matthew,” she says, forlorn. She glances at Charlotte. “Enjoy your bride. She loves you.”

  “And I love her. I’ll do right by her.”

  She purses her lips, fearful, worried. “You’re not your father. You may have chased the same dream, but you’re all of our better assets, all of our virtues combined.”

  I laugh and kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Mother.”

  “May I have the next dance?” my grandfather asks.

  I smile at him and hand my mother over. “Thanks, Grandfather.”

  “Congratulations, boy. She brings freshness to the house. I see what you’ve seen in her now.”

  I glance at her, and she’s dancing with the children from the Children’s National hospital. She’s laughing as little Matthew Brems tries to twirl her around like I did, and I feel my lips curve into a smile. I plunge my hands into my pockets and watch her—I’ve never derived so much pleasure in watching anything in my life.

  She makes me want to be the best man I can be. There aren’t that many people who do that for you. She also makes me want to drop to my knees and worship the living daylights out of her.

  I see her keep stepping on the train of her gown, then excuse herself from the dance floor and whisper something to Stacey, who ushers h
er into the house.

  “We never thought we’d see the day, Hamilton.”

  “Hey, he’s your fucking president now.”

  “Come on, he’s still Hamilton.”

  I just smile. “Hey,” I greet Lucas and Oliver, old friends of mine. “Good of you to come.”

  “Some speculated that it would be difficult to take People’s Sexiest Man Alive seriously for president. Look at you now.”

  I smile dryly as they motion to their table, and I take a seat and sip from my glass when one of the ushers approaches—and a vision in blue with red hair tumbling down her back follows. She’s wearing a traveling outfit, blue skirt and a matching cropped jacket that accentuates her waist, that skirt letting me look at those lovely legs of hers.

  I slowly come to my feet, the blood pooling instantly to my groin.

  Our eyes meet. Her blue eyes are wide in happiness and awe, vulnerable. I want to grab her to me.

  “Charlotte,” I say, introducing her, adding, “Harvard friends, Lucas and Oliver.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she greets them, then heads over to another table to hug my mother and grandfather. She comes back, taking a place to my right. Our eyes meeting yet again as I set my hand on the small of her back and guide her to sit.

  “Remember that teacher at Harvard, that cute little thing who did a double take when you came into class that first day? She wouldn’t look Matt in the eye without getting flustered,” Lucas says.

  “You passed with an A for good looks,” Oliver adds.

  I lean back and partly listen to the conversation. Nothing I haven’t heard. My college friends get hung up on college days, as if those were the best days of their lives. I find I like my life just fine now, and I’m more interested in her reactions, her laugh.

  I’ve never seen this girl so happy. God, she looks gorgeous.

  I shift, my groin aching.

  Nothing stands between us anymore. I won’t let my fears of not being able to be both a good commander in chief and the man she wants stop me. I’m sure as hell going to do everything in my power to excel at both.