Commander in Chief (White House #2)(56)

“Good. I expect that on my desk tomorrow.”

He stands as he hangs up, grabs me by the waist and leads me across the Oval to the adjacent sitting room, and kicks the door shut behind us and ushers me down on the couch, settling on top of me. Pulling my skirt up to my waist, I fumble with his zipper while he pulls my panties aside and then slips his finger back inside.

I pant. The fingers of his free hand trail down my temple.

My cheeks warm with eagerness.

“Lick off the taste of you,” he commands, raising his hand from between my thighs to tease my lips open.

I do.

He frees himself—then he’s inside. Deep inside, where I want him. Need him.

He starts to thrust, groaning as I do.

He trails wet kisses along my neck, fastening his mouth over my nipple, then stroking his hand along my small, rounded belly. The shadows of the trees outside the window fall over us, but I’m unable to focus on any one thing but him.

I tilt my hips upward, hungry for him—always hungry for him.

“Oh god,” I groan.

“Quieter, baby,” he hushes, tender as he plunges his tongue into my mouth, and he thrusts harder until he drives home, taking us where we need to go.

Afterward, I sit up and rearrange my clothes, and watch him for a minute. His hair rumpled by me, his mouth pink, and looking a little bit possessive, he’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. But I don’t want him to know this.

“I’m still irritated,” I mumble.

He stands and zips up. Then he takes my chin and leans over, kissing me, voice husky. “So am I. I know you know better, Charlotte.”

I groan, pushing at him as I straighten. Matt’s eyes drink me in as he’s straightening his tie and securing his cuff links, while I feel like I just got high on a drug called President Hamilton.

“I’m not canceling,” I warn him.

“I don’t want you to cancel,” he firmly retorts. “I want you to take it easier on yourself. Pace yourself. I warned you last night. I’m not fucking kidding about you or our child. You have years to champion your cause.”

“Matthew . . . the doctor said that I should continue with life as normal.”

“And there lies the caveat. You don’t live a normal life, Charlotte.”

He swings open the door of the Oval, striding to his desk, grabbing his glasses and slipping them on, his forehead scrunched as he settles back in his chair.

He scrapes his thumb across his chin, thoughtful, as he starts reading papers again.

“Matt?” I demand.

He lifts his head.

“I promise. Nothing matters to me more than you and this baby,” I assure him.

He nods curtly, voice calm. “Good. We’re clear then,” he says easily, back to work.

I just stare.

He looks up. “I lost my father too damn soon. I’m not going to lose you to exhaustion—or our child to extensive touring. It’s not worth it. Nothing is.”

My anger melts a little; I can’t seem to be able to get angry for long.

I know he’s frustrated the FBI hasn’t found any new leads into his father’s case. It’s an old case. What Matthew wants is near impossible. But he’s been pressing the Bureau to be better, do more, enhance their strategies, their intelligence, and their teams—he’s even strategized to get an increase of funding to both the FBI and CIA, to ensure the United States have the highest degree of competence when in search of justice.

The impossible for him does not exist.

And yet, chaos is the evildoer’s best friend, after all. And yesterday I leapt right into it without thinking—stirring Matthew’s frustrations anew.

I smile as I watch him read the thick document in his hand. “I love you and those silly glasses,” I admit.

My smile fades a little when he looks at me. He gives me a smile.

And he pulls his glasses to the bridge of his nose and eyes me across the room. “Don’t try to sweet-talk your way into working yourself to the bone. That won’t work with me.”

“I didn’t think it would,” I lie, taking myself to the door. “I know what works.” I mouth, Oral.

And I see the most adorable smile touch his lips before he leans back in his chair, looks at me soberly, and purrs, teasing me, “That’s right.”

I laugh as I leave, heading straight to Clarissa.

“Did you give the president a piece of your mind?” Clarissa asks with a twinkle in her eye.

“Oh, definitely.” More like a little piece of pregnant mama booty. I head to my desk and look over the schedule. “Do you agree with him that this is a hectic schedule?”

“I told you from the moment we drafted it that we couldn’t reasonably cover all these schools in such a short amount of time.”

“Why didn’t you insist?” I groan. “We need to redo it.”

“Because I knew he’d set his foot down,” she admits, still seemingly amused.

I sigh and look over everything, exhausted just thinking about moving all the visits around.

“What if I recruited a group of passionate women to help me cover all these areas—spread our Kids for the Future message?” I ask.

Clarissa loves the idea so much that by that evening, we’ve got a new plan hashed out, and meetings set up with women like me who want the kids to have the best opportunities, the best futures, the best self-esteem, and the best chances at achieving their dreams one day.