Commander in Chief (White House #2)(15)

“Do I get a kiss for the gloves, at least?”

My body keeps tightening with yearning, but I manage to control myself and say, “Yes, but not here. Tonight when we’re alone.”

His eyes darken intensely. “Mmm. I look forward to that.” He scoops an especially large forkful of quinoa into his mouth.

After dinner, we sit in the Yellow Oval Room on the second floor for drinks. He nods at Wilson in some sort of silent indication, and we get the privacy that we want as the agents scatter. I turn to Matt on the couch, his posture relaxed, but his gaze about as relaxed as an inferno in full blaze.

“Don’t move,” I warn. “It’s just a little kiss. If you move then I won’t be able to control myself.”

His raspy laugh surrounds me. “Baby, I can’t control myself when you look at me like that …” He strokes his hand down my cheek, his stare crackling with raw intensity.

“Shh. Close your eyes.”

I straddle him, and Matt slides his hands to cup my butt rebelliously but closes his eyes. And oh, how close I feel, how safe I feel, how hot I feel.

I look at his face and I feel like exploding from the inside out and imploding from the outside in. I love him so much. I trace his lips with my fingertip. He bites me. “Don’t,” I giggle.

He groans, his eyes still closed.

“Stay still,” I say.

He stills, lips quirked.

I lean my head and press my lips to his. A thousand shots of lightning course through my veins when he parts his mouth. I lick into him, and his hands slide down the small of my back, grinding me to his hard cock as he plunges his wet tongue into my mouth. He holds my ass in both hands, and his touch sets the butterflies off in my stomach. Memories of us threaten to drown me—every moment, every kiss.

I link my hands behind his neck, and though Matt isn’t moving, I feel his power, his hold on me and my heart.

“Thank you for my gloves,” I say, breathless, as I ease back.

He smiles, shifting forward as I get up on trembling feet, his mouth red, his hair mussed. “You’re welcome. Thank you for putting in all that effort for our dinner.”

“I enjoyed it.” I exhale. “I’d better go. We both need to be ready for tomorrow.”

He just smiles, watching me in silence as I leave.

The French president is holding a state dinner in Matt’s honor, and all the arrangements to my schedule were automatically made to be sure I could accompany him.

I’m excited, nervous, and still aroused from that silly little kiss.

So excited and aroused that I just can’t sleep. I know that Matt doesn’t sleep, because the door to his bedroom never shuts all night.





8





AIR FORCE ONE





Charlotte



The last time I crossed the Atlantic, it was to try to put distance between us. Today I’m crossing it by his side. We board Marine One on the South Lawn of the White House. The motorcade creates too much traffic for people’s everyday commute.

Soon we reach the airport and are escorted to the long, open steps leading up to Air Force One, the American flag proudly on its tail.

The president motions me to go ahead, and my heart is pounding as I walk onto the biggest private plane I’ve ever beheld. It’s beyond luxurious, tastefully decorated in beige tones and dark woods.

I wander down the hall and peer into the rooms and separate seating areas.

I can’t believe we’re on Air Force One. I’m sort of embarrassed by how blown away I feel and how calm everyone else seems as Matthew’s staff heads to the main seating area. I try to keep a grip as I walk down the plane aisle when I notice Matt two steps behind me. He’s wearing a navy-blue bomber jacket with the presidential seal and I want to rip it off him.

“Big change from our days campaigning, huh?” I whisper, eyeing everything with admiration, gasping when the rooms continue. “Oh god, it’s like a hotel in the air, conference room, office . . .” I add. I open one door and gasp again. “Bedroom?” I ask him over my shoulder.

“Yep.”

I walk in to see, and then I hear the door shut behind us.

I whirl around, and Matt is shrugging off his jacket.

I open my mouth but no words come out. The only things working really are my sexy parts, the flood of liquid heat between my thighs, the hard beads of my nipples pressing against the soft cashmere of my sweater and the lace of my bra.

Matt sees.

He sees—my pointed nipples, poking in salute, my breasts feeling sensitive, my cheeks flushing as I start to pant.

“I’ve got to get some work done. But nothing will get done until I do this.”

The whispers trigger a tremor down my spine as he approaches.

Matt tugs his button-down shirt from the waistband of his slacks, and takes my hands and slides them up his chest. Then he steals his own under my cashmere sweater, pulling me flush to him—our fingers touching each other’s bare skin. His eyes a whole world of fire.

“Your enthusiasm for all this affects me deeply, baby,” he rasps, rubbing his thumb over my lower lip.

I moan in anticipation as he leans down and sets a kiss on my forehead. “I know we said slow. So I’m going to kiss you. Very, very slow. Because when you ooh and ahh all over Air Force One, and all over élysée Palace when we arrive, I want you to have my taste in your mouth, and I want every ooh and ahh to taste like me,” he rasps, and his lips slide, ever so slowly, torturously slowly, down my nose. My breath catches, and Matt inhales deeply, as if breathing me in, prolonging my torture and his own, before he whispers, “Now kiss me back, C, like you mean it. Like you miss me,” as he presses his lips directly to my mouth.