Commander in Chief (White House #2)(45)

Just mine, mask off, tie off, suit off, all the power of the executive branch off. Just his muscles. His lips. His words.

I’m married to the president. I don’t care that he’s president.

But who he is.

I’m married to my childhood crush, the man I love.

It makes me quiver. He does.

He’s the only one I’d ever want to spend forever with.

And the girl in me still marvels that from his pick of women, he picked me. Loved me. Saw me.

Sees me now, as he stands before me, all lean muscle and man, watching me shed my blue form-fitting travel outfit.

He’s breathing hard, his gaze raking me.

I take a step and he grabs me, gathering my hair above my head in one fist. He leans his lips to my ear. “I fucking love the hell out of you,” he whispers, touching my breast with one hand, caressing the taut peak.

“I love you so much. I want you inside me as soon as possible.”

He kisses me. I sort of lose all my thoughts, reaching between us to touch him—hard and pulsing. I groan when he scoops me up, carries me into a large bedroom with a king bed, and throws me on the mattress. He falls on top of me and ducks his head to my breasts, and Matthew’s mouth becomes the center of my galaxy. I can’t get enough. I groan as he licks and sucks hungrily, taking his time to enjoy me, taste me, tantalize me, his mouth often coming back to mine, gentle but fierce.

“What does my wife want?”

“God, you know what,” I say.

He rewards me with a kiss. I never thought a man would kiss me with this passion, would want me with this passion, would love me with this passion—I never thought, when I once told him innocently that I wouldn’t mind being by the president’s side, that I’d actually end up by his side. That he’d be the man I would not only be with for his first term, and maybe second, but for the rest of his life and mine.

And I think this is why we’re kissing like this—because we’re not the president and the first lady when we’re together. Because him proposing, him marrying me, has nothing to do with the circumstances that he’s currently the commander in chief and I’m his first lady. It’s despite that.

He asked me because he wants forever with me—and the thought of forever with him makes me the happiest woman alive.

It doesn’t matter that our forever will grace the history books. It’s our history, his and mine.

Matt sets his forehead on mine and looks intently into my eyes.

“Are you on the pill, baby?” he asks thickly and when I motion ‘yes’ with my head (having started when Matt asked the White House doctor to prescribe me), he kisses me deep, opening me up so he can enter me.

I groan. He lets go a rumble that tells me right off the bat that he loves the feel of me—the feel of us without anything in between. And god, I feel full—full and ready to splinter into a million delicious particles from the pleasure of feeling Matt—long, thick, hard Matt—driving inside me like he belongs here.

He does.

He folds my right leg over his shoulder, opening me up even more. I can feel the ripple of muscle from his shoulder and arm under my calf, and he thrusts, and suddenly he’s even deeper—deeper than ever.

A whimper of pleasure leaves me, and his mouth is there to eat it up. “How deep do you want me?” he asks, pulling my other leg over his shoulder too.

I’m nearly at the peak already.

“Oh god, Matthew,” I pant.

Keeping my legs draped over his shoulders, he drives in deeper.

“Like that,” he rasps.

He fills me as if he doesn’t plan to leave. As if he belongs inside me. As if my body was made to fit every inch of his. He groans when he’s fully embedded, and I clench my legs around his shoulders, wanting more, wanting everything, my muscles gripping his hot length every time he drives in and even more so when he’s pulling out.

“How right you squeeze me,” he purrs, licking my lips. “Make room for me, Mrs. Hamilton. Take all of me.”

“Yes,” I pant. “I’m all yours.”

I cry out in pleasure and Matt watches me, making me come, letting me come, watching me with desirous eyes and a wolfish smile on his face—as if he couldn’t relish anything more than having me lose control.

He comes with me with a roar, his mouth capturing mine for a wild kiss as we climax together.

For the next minute, we lie tangled, our bodies naked and damp from making love. Matt goes to the restroom and returns with a tissue, running it between my legs. He cleans me, disposes of the tissue, then comes back to bed and looks at me as he stretches out beside me. There’s no hiding the blatant heat in his gaze as he takes me in. He curls his palm around the back of my head, pressing his forehead to mine.

“Can you take me again?” he asks, his voice gruff as he nuzzles my face with his and caresses my side.

He finds the tight pearl of my clit and starts rubbing as he kisses me.

“Can you take more, Charlotte?” he asks, switching his fingers on my clit from his index finger to his thumb—his index finger penetrating me.

I arch up and catch my lower lip to stop a sound of pleasure from leaving me. His scent drugs me, makes me dizzy with want. His finger exits and he rubs my clit again, getting my juices all over me. I start thrusting my hips up to his hand, desperate for more. He eases his finger back in, then out, once again rubbing my clit. I’m thrashing, tossing my head, fisting the sheets at my side, undone by the way he touches me.