Commander in Chief (White House #2)(17)

Hell, I like it too much.

My own lungs feel constricted in my chest, and my cock is swelled to maximum capacity. One flick of her eyes in that direction makes her notice. And blush.

“I remember,” she says, swallowing thickly.

I undo the next two buttons and spread her jacket open. “What do you remember, Charlotte?” My voice has thickened. My own eyes feel heavy but I can’t take them away from her, from this girl—this woman, this lady. My first lady. “Do you remember this?” I ease my hand between her thighs, under her skirt, and caress her over her panties.

I find her wet for me—ready for me—and I feel my heartbeat accelerate. The need to feel her around me, to be inside her, make love to her, fuck this need inside of her simmers in my veins.

She swallows audibly.

I push up her skirt and look at her—swollen and wet, her panties tight over her sex, the fabric damp, and my eyes fucking hurt.

I lean over, my forehead touching hers, my eyes fixed on hers as I pull down her panties until they fall at her ankles. She steps away from them—closer to me. I insert one finger into her opening, seeking her depths. And god, she’s so snug. So wet she’s soaking me down to the base of my finger.

“Do you remember?” I press, doing nothing but touching her between her legs, watching her pant as I slide my finger in and almost out, deeper in and almost out. Her eyes drift shut as she fights this, fights me.

I use my free hand to undo the top buttons of the silk blouse she’s wearing under her jacket, part it open, and I duck my head. I coast my breath over the swell of her breast, the move designed to break her defenses, make her mine again. “Do you remember this?” I kiss the top swell of her breast.

She inhales and moves her hips to my finger. I move my mouth downward, to her nipple, and circle the tip with my tongue over the silk of her bra, marking the spot wetly. I suck her into my mouth then, fabric and all, and find her nub with my thumb. I circle it, watching the pleasure take her over—and I’m high on it. I’m high on her. High on the act of giving her pleasure alone.

“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.