Commander in Chief

  “Tell me you remember this, baby,” I croon, unbuttoning the rest of her blouse. I lower the fabric of her bra so that I can take that hard tip of her nipple into my mouth and suck her, suck her like I need to. I groan when she shudders and her body softens against me.

  I lift her and set her down on the side console, making room between her legs as I continue with my caresses, brushing my lips over hers.

  “Matt, don’t . . .”

  “That’s not the word I want to hear. That’s not the word you want to say to me—don’t tell me you don’t remember this, want this. Want me.”

  She parts her lips and I slip my tongue inside, grabbing the back of her head and fitting my mouth to hers as I kiss her.

  I’ve never been so gentle and so rough with a woman at the same time. I’ve never wanted to make love and fuck at the same time. She makes me want to do both—do her every way to Sunday, draw out every moan in her, every gasp, every breath, all of them mine, all of her mine.

  She moves her body and tries to get closer, squirming, her lower lip trapped under her teeth as she bites down hard to keep from telling me.

  I place a kiss on her top lip, softly, causing her to release her lower lip, allowing me to fit my lips on hers perfectly now. And she opens up and I’m drowning in the taste of her, the smell of her—so sweet and pure, she is. I’m here because of her. I’m trying to do my best because of her. Hell, I’m trying to do more—she’s opened my eyes, made me realize this isn’t enough. I want more. I want this. Her. And I want to do right by her.

  I’m determined to make it happen at any cost.

  Slowly, today, day by day, touch by touch, breaking down her walls—she’ll be mine again, her body first, her soul, and then her heart. I’m not letting her go.

  “Open up to me, baby. Do you remember how you used to? Hmm? Tell me I’m still here,” I beg, cupping her breast, squeezing gently as I rub inside her. “And here. Tell me, beautiful. Tell me C is for Charlotte, my Charlotte, coming in my arms again.”

  She goes off, breathing fast beneath me, clinging to my shoulders as if I’m all that holds her upright. “Oh god!” She presses her cheek to my neck, then pushes me back.

  Then laughs. “Matt . . . you’re pretty good at this sort of thing. Seducing and pleasuring me.”

  I lick my finger. “Hmm. At your service, Miss Wells.”

  “Mr. President, you’re a cad.”

  “I’m your cad.”

  She swallows, her eyes wide. I pull her skirt down and lower her to her feet. “We need to get ready.”

  “I can’t go without panties!”

  “Live a little,” I say. “You’re a filthy first lady, a very wicked, naughty, hot first lady,” I say, raising her back to the console and ordering, “Part your legs.”

  She does. I’m testing her; there’s no fucking way I’ll let her go anywhere without panties. I’m fucked up enough by the thought alone.

  I ease the panties back up her legs, then lift her up and set her on her feet, kissing her leisurely as I tug them all the way up her sweet little pussy and round little ass.

  Charlotte

  We end up showering—separately. I don’t think either of us could take the heat of a joint shower, but I was still so aroused rubbing the loofah over my skin, thinking of Matt waiting outside the room.

  I dressed while he showered, putting on a long blue silk taffeta gown with layers upon layers on its skirt, and I try not to drool too much when Matt walks out drying himself, fully naked, giving me a glimpse of everything I adore and want and miss as he gets dressed.

  The state dinner is a lavish affair. French influentials gravitate toward Matt. That effortless grace; he’s in a room and it feels as if there’s no one else, and never was, and never will be.

  There is just a natural charm about him—and the women, especially, don’t seem to miss it. I have my own admirers and try not to get jealous, especially because Matthew keeps glancing in my direction, and I can’t stop myself from stealing covert glances at him as well.

  After all the guests depart, we remain chatting over after-dinner drinks with the French president and first lady.

  “You two.” He motions toward Matt and me, then presses his fingers to his eyes. “The eyes don’t lie, eh? You are guests here; my wife and I hope you’re comfortable in one room rather than the two—in fact, I believe all the other rooms in the Élysée Palace were taken, weren’t they, chéri.”

  Matt’s laugh is low and very masculine.

  And very, very sexy.

  “What happens in Paris stays in Paris,” the French president adds with a wink.

  “I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to spend some private time with my first lady,” Matt admits. He shifts forward and eyes me challengingly.

  “Opportunities like these are rare, eh?” The French president chuckles and lifts his glass. “To President Hamilton, and his enchanting first lady.”

  Matt raises his glass and looks at me, and I clench my thighs together and take a sip. Only after that do I arch an eyebrow.

  The French president’s wife smiles at me and sips from her wineglass.

  Finally, after the longest day ever, we head to our room.

  We close the door, and the surroundings are so alien, I feel a little homesick—but home stands before me, over six feet tall and virile, and I’m sunk into those knowing dark eyes and that half smile of his as he watches me take off my shoes.

  I don’t even know what to do with my hands as Matt plucks his cufflinks open and sets them aside, his eyes never leaving mine.

  Something about this aloneness—about having him all to myself, in this city—feels like another stolen moment. Like I’m taking something that doesn’t belong to me but I very much want to.

  “Come here.”

  I shiver at his gruff whisper. I know that he senses my homesickness, my longing. My homesickness for him. Home. And when he opens his arms, I go. I press myself to his side and bury my face in his neck and let him engulf me. God, I’ve wanted this so much.

  “Come here,” he says again, as if he needs me closer still.

  He drags me onto the bed and slips his arm under the opening at the back of my dress, gathering me to him, his hands spread on my bare back, my whole body pressed against Matt’s hard one in the most protective embrace I’ve ever felt in my life—it’s a wall of muscle and flesh and warmth and I bury myself even more into it, as close as physically possible.

  Matt tightens his hold too.

  I’m shivering and overwhelmed. His smell all around me. His hands on my back. The weight of his eyes on me. Matt’s hand brushing my hair back as he tries to peer into my face even though I’m trying to hide it because this urge to cry has to be jet lag. I can’t just break down for no reason. But I bury my face into his neck and fist the fabric of his open shirt, trying to get a grip on myself, letting the soothing motions of his hands massaging down the length of my back comfort me.

  “I still love you.”

  “I know.” His voice is low and thick and textured with emotion.

  “I still want you like nothing in my life.”

  “I know. Come here.” He drags me over him, holding me by the back of the head as he slips his tongue inside my mouth and kisses and kisses

  and kisses

  and kisses me.

  He frames my face in his hands and his gaze bores into mine. “I love you. Very much, Charlotte. So much I couldn’t let you go. So much I won’t let you go. I’ve been in hell without you. You’re in my every waking thought and in my fucking dreams. I’ll fight to deserve you, to keep you by my side. I’m never making that mistake again, of thinking that I can’t keep you. I will. I will always keep you. Do you understand me?” He presses a kiss to my ear and murmurs fiercely, pulling me back and looking deeply into my eyes as he frames my face in his hands, “Do you hear me, baby?”

  I peer up at him. “I didn’t hear the first part.”

  A slow-growing smile suddenly dee
pens into laughter, then he falls sober. He shifts me to my back, his muscles rippling as he goes up on his arms. Looks at me directly, intently, his voice utterly low as he strokes his thumb down my jaw, eyes on mine. “I love you, beautiful.”

  “How much? Like this?” I move my index finger and thumb as far apart as I can.

  Matthew shakes his head.

  “No?” I ask, disappointed.

  “Immeasurably, baby. I love you immeasurably.”

  He holds my face in his hands and gently kisses me, kisses me with immeasurable tenderness, immeasurable heat. Immeasurable love.

  10

  BACK

  Charlotte

  On our way back to D.C., we kiss at leisure in the bedroom of Air Force One. I’m on his lap, burning for him.

  “I’m thirsty for you, too thirsty to get enough,” he growls.

  We lose it. He sweeps down and grabs me against him, and I grab him by the shirt and kiss him back, raw and hot this time, out of control, his lips dominating and hungry, mine moving just as fast, an inferno of heat and longing blazing between us.

  Matt coaxes my tongue into his mouth, groaning, massaging my butt with his hands.

  “You’re mine. Say you’re mine.”

  “I’m yours.”

  “I’m sick of hiding. I understand we need to take it step by step with the public, but Charlotte, I want you in my bed—I want inside you. Two steps into my room, we’ll be tearing off our clothes and nothing is going to come between us—nothing.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. I need to be sure I can truly be the first lady that the country needs.”

  “You are not just your job—you are a woman, and you’re the woman I need.”

  He covers my breast with one hand and thrusts his tongue into my mouth, faster, harder, and I’m dying from the way he seems to need me. I grab fistfuls of his hair, lost, moaning and groaning, our hands running over each other, our mouths crazy.

  “Soon,” I breathe. He groans. “I’m sick of cold showers.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m physically in pain.”

  “Focus on what you’re sitting on and you’ll realize you’re not alone.”

  I smile, quivering in desire. “Soon.”

  11

  ADJUSTING

  Charlotte

  Matthew has flown out for a meeting with the prime minister of Canada, and I spend the next few days adjusting to life in the White House.

  I look at the menus on Sunday, and I tell the chef that I really don’t think we need to have fancy menus or fancy desserts on a daily basis, that plain apple pie will do.

  He created this version of an apple pie that’s several layers, has a bit of cheesecake mingled in with the cinnamon apples, and I’ve never tasted anything so divine in my life.

  “I’ve never gone to a restaurant with food as good as the food you cook, Chef.”

  “It’s our job to keep you well fed and happy—and it’s our job to make you and our country look good with all our visiting foreign dignitaries.”

  We’re hosting a state dinner for President Asaf in two months and before he left, Matt said, “Spare no expense.”

  One of the things I learned upon arrival at the White House was that the first family pays for their personal expenses, including their staff and food. “Matt—I know your family has money, but you’ll leave with no money if you—”

  He started laughing, then assured me, “Spare no expense. This is the United States of America, and the White House. It’s an investment.”

  “If we stick to a reasonable budget for the state dinner, the State Department will foot the bill,” Clarissa assured me when I expressed my concern to her, later.

  I occasionally wander around the house with the curator, asking him to teach me about the artwork and the relics. There is so much history here. So much heart and depth. I love it, but I haven’t seen Matthew for days.

  I’ve looked at my schedule and had chats with my press secretary, chief of staff, and social director, and I’m tempted to work my schedule around his when he returns, when Clarissa tells me, “The president’s chief of staff asked me to adjust your schedule so you could do several events with him.”

  I blush. Is he as eager about seeing me as I am him? “Absolutely; it’s my pleasure.”

  She and the social director sort of look at each other in mischief. I laugh. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “We didn’t say a word.”

  “Look, we’re both really interested in doing our best here—”

  “We’re not judging, Miss Wells, on the contrary. You look good together.”

  I just smile, not knowing what to say. I miss him so much. It’s still incredible for me to be here, that we’re giving this a shot.

  A day before Matt is due to return, I just can’t take it a second longer. I head to the West Wing.

  “Portia, could you connect me with the president?”

  “I . . . he’s on Air Force One. Let me see if I can get him.”

  After a moment, I wait for him to take the call.

  “Hey.” His voice is husky.

  “I’m sorry to bother you—are you busy? Oh, I’m sure you are.” I laugh and exhale. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too.”

  “Would you have dinner with me in the Old Family Dining Room tomorrow?”

  “I’m there,” he says without hesitation.

  I’m nervous about going through with this. I need that connection. I’m going crazy for it. I want his strength, I want his arms around me, I want him. I just want him and I want him to know how much he is wanted by me.

  Matt

  I’m edgy and I can’t take the edge off.

  We’re flying home on Air Force One, D.C. already beneath us.

  I’ve been rehashing a new plan to get the economy rolling again.

  “The markets have rallied. The dollar is stronger from the moment you took office,” Frederickson, the VP, says, tossing a tennis ball up in the air and catching it.

  “Markets merely speculate. We need concrete results, to get our economy running again. Where are we on our education bill?” I ask Dale.

  “Should be done by next week.”

  “I want us to invest in our youth. Education, top level. Next up is healthcare. Women having equal pay—paid maternal leave so they can spend the time they need with their newborns. Too many people who are hurting out there who weren’t tended to properly.”

  “Your call, Mr. President.”

  “And get me the Speaker of the House. And I want a meeting with the Democratic and Republican leaders—there are ways we can make this work without putting up a thousand and one walls.”

  Dale nods and leaves, and Frederickson follows to the door, shouting, “Catch!” and sending the ball flying my way.

  Jack leaps up before I can grab it, then trots and brings it over.

  “Good dog!” Frederickson applauds, impressed.

  I pull out my glasses to continue reading and catch Jack sniffing my coffee cup as he sets the ball on my desk. “No more, buddy.” I turn the cup and let him lick a drop—and I think of her, with her red hair swinging, bringing me coffee. I think of her spread out beneath me. Moaning. Wanting it.

  She wants us to have dinner. I know what she wants. I want it too.

  She wanted time, concerned about the media.

  I’ve been patient. But I’m tired of worrying about the media. I’m tired of being unable to take her out in public. I’m fucking tired of hiding the one thing I personally value aside my job and my country. Yeah, I’m looking forward to dinner. The only thing I hunger for is her.

  12

  HIM

  Charlotte

  I hear Marine One long before I see the helicopter descend over the South Lawn of the White House. I want to run to the doors like Jack does when Matt is out and he stays home, but instead I force myself to walk primly down the stairs and outside.

  Matt hops off the helicopter and Jack rushes
across the lawn, while I wait by the steps, smiling as Jack leaps up to greet me. I pet his head, my eyes firmly locked onto the tall, distinguished man crossing the lawn toward me.

  He’s wearing his gabardine over his suit, and the wind is blowing through his hair—making love to every inch of him.

  His stride is purposeful as he heads forward. Jack waits by my side, tail swishing side to side.

  Our eyes meet. I just smile and start heading inside, and two steps inside—a good distance away from the agents milling about—he draws me into his arms and my resolve to wait until after dinner melts a little. He strokes a hand down the back of my head. “I missed you,” he breathes in my ear.

  It melts a little more.

  His strength seeps into my body. It reaches deep inside me, down to the marrow of my bones. If we were alone, I’d pull him somewhere to feel his hands on me. Feel his eyes on me. Feel his skin under my fingers, his tongue moving over mine again.

  “So did I.”

  Jack barks happily. Matt eases back, but not before I get a glimpse of the smoldering heat in his eyes. “Not here,” he says.

  I inhale for patience.

  He grins, seizes my chin, and stares straight into my eyes. “Go to my room.” A promise.

  My breathing becomes uneven and jittery. “What about dinner?”

  “What I want is right here, and I’m not waiting a moment longer to have her. Now let me tend to something and I’ll be right there.”

  I head to my bedroom first and snatch up a gauzy nightie that I bought in Paris, my only purchase there. A white baby doll with a part in the middle and a bow tying it together.

  Did I buy it with the hopes he would one day see it?

  I told myself it was for me, but now I’m not so sure. I tuck it under my jacket, and I’m aware of Secret Service stationed nearby as I cross to his room. I shut the door, quickly change in his large bathroom, and head straight for the bed because my legs feel liquid and unsteady.