Mr. President (White House #1)(76)

His eyes are heavy-lidded as he peels free and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He looks hot as heat itself, his lips red from me.

My heart lurches as he spreads open his shirt. I see an expanse of tanned, smooth skin and muscles. He shrugs off his shirt, his shoulders and biceps flexing with the move.

I’m fumbling as I quickly unzip my dress. I shrug it off and let it whisk down my legs.

He pulls off his belt and sends it away with a clatter, and before he can remove his slacks, I’m back on him and we’re kissing.

We’re kissing without restraint, wild, our hands and mouths all over each other. He groans between his wild, fierce kisses, “I can’t even find the words to describe how perfect you are.” He holds my face and kisses me, and I hold his jaw and kiss him back, then push him away and ease toward the bed.

He follows me. “I’ve missed those blue eyes. I even missed the way you scrunch your nose at me.”

I scrunch my nose.

His eyes laugh silently, and I laugh out loud, but we go sober.

I’ve missed his eyes too.

My calves hit the bed and he reaches for me, his hand curling around my waist as I grab his shoulder to brace myself.

His chest jerks with a breath, as if my touch singed him. He’s smiling as he pulls me flush to him. My torso touches his and fire streaks through my veins.

A tremor runs through my nerve endings as his fingers spread on my back. Plastered against his chest, my nipples have turned hard as rubies.

I want him to take my bra off and bare them to him.

I want him to take them in his mouth and taste them.

I want him so much, I burn for him, in my veins and my heart and between my legs.

He slips his fingers into my hair and exerts just the right amount of pressure to tug my head a little closer—even as he leans his head to mine. A muscle tics in the back of his jaw as he presses his lips to my cheek, dragging them down my jaw, my neck. His breath is warm on my skin as he whispers, “Perfection.”

Before I know it, he’s worked off my panties and is pulling off my bra. Shivering when the air brushes over my skin, I lean back on the bed—naked. Letting him look at me while I look at him.

His body could be in a centerfold—and yet it’s real. It’s here, and it’s all for me.

One last time . . .

He’s over me the next instant, hungry. So hungry.

He suckles my nipple and draws my legs apart with his hand, caressing the inside of my thighs as he heads upward.

I’ve never wanted to devour another human being the way I want to devour him.

I kiss his jaw and rock my hips to coax him to touch me. He complies, first stroking his finger along the folds of my sex. I can hear a wet, slick sound as his index finger trails up and down, up and down. Then he eases the tip inside me.

“God . . . Matt.”

“Say it again. Say it again just like that,” he says, kissing his way to my other breast and taking the nipple. Sucking. Licking. Laving. Tasting.

My voice cracks. “Matt.”

He grabs my hair and keeps me in place as he drags his mouth lower, his shoulders flexing, the candlelight making love to his muscular chest as he starts kissing me between my legs. He runs his tongue along my folds and I groan, his tongue dipping inside of me.

I move urgently beneath him as he works my body into a frenzy, works me into a frenzy.

The pads of his thumbs stroke over the tips of my breasts, caressing my nipples. I groan deep in my throat again. He curses low in his throat, eases back, and strips the rest of his clothes off fast—never taking his eyes off me.

God, his cock is so thick and long, so huuuge. . .

He crawls over me and I’m panting, our eyes holding.

His fingers curl around my hip, holding me still. And then with a slow but powerful rock of his hips, Matt thrusts inside me.

I nearly come when he drives all the way in, every inch of his cock caressing every inch of my channel. I gasp, clutching my limbs around his body as my sex clings to every inch of him.

We’re not speaking. Leaving unspoken the fact that we are stealing, flat-out stealing this moment, and we both seem to want to savor it with our every sensation. Sight, sounds, touch, taste, scent.

I move with him as he drives forward purposefully. I’m writhing and twisting, kissing and touching him as much as possible even as Matt kisses and touches me. Exquisitely does what any living, breathing, red-blooded man would do with a girl like me.

My eyes hold his, cling to his, widening as I take him inside me—long, hard, pulsing with life. He won’t take his eyes off me. They’re heavy and so male, and looking at me as if I’m some living Mona Lisa, a breathing Statue of Liberty. There’s not enough air in the world to fill my lungs right now. He’s breathing just as hard.

He rocks his hips and keeps entering, watching me. My body contracts with aching need, and every time I feel him rock—so hard, so big, so close—I get wetter and wetter, absorbing everything. The soft sucking motions of his mouth on my nipples arrow down to my sex, which keeps squeezing around him.

I run my fingers up his chest and let my own mouth wander, tasting, tasting, tasting. He’s warm, sweaty, and salty. He groans and thrusts back inside, pulling my head back, watching my neck arch, and he tells me to keep making those sounds, that they’re driving him crazy.

I’m the one who’s losing my mind now. I’m loving the way he groans, looks at me, feels, tastes, as we move without control.