Mr. President (White House #1)(58)

His tongue thrusts, that first thrust wet and hard and oh so good. His grip tightens on my neck, possessive. He deepens the kiss, if that’s even possible. “I thought of this mouth all weekend. And these gorgeous breasts . . .”

He curls one hand around my breast, the other on the back of my neck.

His hand is warm and gentle on my nape and as he fondles my breast. The touch is so wanted, all I can do is absorb the feel of that large hand teasing my nipple, breaking me apart. While the other is cupping the back of my neck as if it alone holds my spine together, keeps my body from falling, my cells locked together.

He looks down at me and pinches my nipple and pulls me closer a little roughly, and I hold my breath—a breath that is scented with him.

His lips curl a little, and heat charges down my body.

I inhale sharply when he lifts his hand and runs it up my curves, looking into my eyes as he traces the contours. Flesh and blood.

But he looks at me as if he thinks I’m made of something else.

His fingers edge into my waistband and then into my panties as he starts gently kissing me again.

I open my mouth and breathe, “Matt.”

He inhales me, then starts kissing my lips again. Hot. Firm. Urgent.

I groan and wrap my arm around his neck.

“Matt—I didn’t think. You need to go,” I groan, pushing my tongue into his mouth, grabbing fistfuls of his silky hair. “I know that this is . . . we can’t . . . are you going to stop or am I going to have to stop you? Please don’t make me stop you. I don’t know if I can . . .” I groan.

I not only worry that my neighbor will hear us, that a scandal will erupt, but I also don’t know how much more of him I can take before I hit the point of no return.

Or maybe I’ve already reached that point.

There won’t ever—ever—be a man who excites me like this one.

He’s all I breathe, all I see, all I want as he lifts me up to the kitchen counter, and I gasp in surprise but hang onto his shoulders for support.

He reaches under my skirt to pull down my panties. His eyes meet mine and hold them in his penetrating gaze as he takes my mouth with his and starts rubbing my folds between his fingers.

I don’t know how to feel, how to react—my world is fragmenting, piece by piece; there is no reality, nothing but my arms around his neck, clenching, and his hot mouth, and his expert fingers, giving me what I need.

“Matt.”

He holds me on the kitchen counter and my knees are weak as he opens up my thighs to make more room for his fingers.

Need burns fiery bright as he slides two inside me. Cupping my breast in his hand, caressing. Pulling his mouth free of mine to roam down my neck, to suck on a nipple. I break apart in his arms, beneath his touch and his kiss.

Only after I come, with him saying shh, I got you against my lips, do I seem to return to earth.

I stand on shaky legs, and he grabs my hips and rests his forehead on mine. His eyes are lit up with heat and devilish mischief, melting me a little more—if that’s even possible.

My voice comes out breathy. “Wow.” I lift my hand and set it on his jaw, stroking him with a tenderness I’m not sure I’ve ever shown him. “It never feels like enough. I keep craving more of you.”

He turns his head, placing a soft kiss on the inside of my palm. Voice thicker and more textured than ever, he says, “We’re not done yet.”

He gingerly kisses the inside of my wrist as he draws my hand to curl it around the back of his beck.

As he brings me flush, he ducks his head and kisses me goodnight. The kiss slow and languorous, an underlying hunger in every thrust of his tongue. I’m trembling, weak from my orgasm, as he’s whispering, “I’ll see you tomorrow, beautiful,” and he pecks my lips, slowly, almost as if in gratitude, and he’s gone, telling me before he exits, “Lock up.”

The next morning, I’m flushed as I dress for work, anticipating the moment when I see him.

When the hectic pace of our campaign catches up with me and Matt spends all morning running, I almost think I made it up, it didn’t happen, all the things he said, all the ways we keep sinking deeper, but my mouth feels that last lick of his lips on mine.

And when Matt finally gets into headquarters and looks at me, the look in his beautiful dark eyes keeps reminding me that it definitely happened, and that he means for it to happen again.





26





NEVER ENOUGH OF YOU





Matt



I can’t seem to get enough of her. I’ve been biting, nibbling, kissing her, sucking her . . .

We’re in the shower and I’ve got her stripped to a camisole and flimsy white underwear.

I shift the showerhead and aim it toward Charlotte, then watch the water slide down her curves.

I take in the pink, hard little peaks of her nipples against her top. The cotton clinging to her wet body. My eyes trail downward, to the lace of her panties and her * visible through the wet cloth. My eyes rise, slowly, to her face, and her tongue darts out, her eyes wide with concern. There’s more than concern there. There’s yearning, and a little recklessness.

“Matt?”

My throat feels thick as I reach up to touch her cheek with my thumb, trailing it down her jaw as I lean toward her ear. “Yeah?” I say, looking into her eyes, then at her sweet mouth.