I want him like a physical ache. I can’t stop running my hands over his arms, his shoulders, his chest.
He growls, “Come here,” and kisses me. Hard and with purpose. He starts slamming me full force—and I relish the taste of him again, the smell of him.
He sucks my breast again, and I take him, meeting every thrust with a rock of my hips in silent plea for more.
He slows the pace and pulls out, then rubs my clit under his thumb. I growl and he pushes his middle finger inside me, watching me. “So snug, and so wet and greedy.” He removes his finger, ready to fill me again.
I curl my legs tighter around him and lift my head, and press my mouth to his as he thrusts inside. And then he’s everywhere. Thrusting deep, tapping my heart as he withdraws and does it again.
I moan, he groans.
He’s the man I love and he’s fucking me like he means it, with strong, deliberate strokes that stretch me almost until I can’t bear it. I can feel in the way he moves, the way he touches me, bites me, licks me, that I wasn’t the only one dying for this.
He gives me a soul-wrecking kiss that makes me soar and I suck his tongue and use my thighs to bring him closer, our breaths exploding out at the same time as we arch to get closer and closer.
He thrusts harder, deeper, our eyes holding, our mouths crushing, our hands touching, our tongues tasting, our breaths barely enough to keep up.
I hear the slick sounds of him entering me, I’m so wet, and he’s so thick and hard and moving so fast, our bodies straining to get even closer.
“So good. So damn good I already want to do this again.”
“Yes,” I rasp.
Vision blurry with need. My mouth roaming his chest and neck and his hard jaw, the stubble there scraping my lips as I kiss him.
I’m shaking, needing, vulnerable, and he is oh so sexy.
I feel overwhelmed when he’s inside me, like I’m going to burst from what I’m feeling, connected with him, one with him—this man who’s never really given himself to anyone and is hesitant to let someone in. Who makes me want to claim him.
He pushes into me again, and the rumbling sounds leaving his throat tell me he’s just as ready to go off as I am. We fuck slower now, but just as passionately.
My body is snug around him and squeezing him, gripping him to keep him inside me. “Let me see you,” he says. “Come the fuck apart for me.” He looks down at me and kisses me, commanding my lips as he rubs my tongue with his and rubbing my clit with his thumb as he thrusts up deep against my G-spot. “Come.”
I start tightening around him, and the moment I begin to thrash, he tightens his muscles and arches back, and he growls in pleasure as he comes with me.
I’m too weak to move for a few minutes. Matt goes to clean off, then comes back and pulls me into his arms.
He nuzzles my neck, and I press as close as I can.
Oh god, I can’t get close enough.
I inhale his scent and clench my arms around his neck, hearing him chuckle softly against the top of my hair, his breath tickling me.
We lie there for minutes, naked . . .
sated . . .
and tangled with each other and the sheets.
The dusting of hair on Matthew’s chest is too tempting for my fingers. “I should probably leave,” I whisper against the thick column of his throat as I caress his chest and force myself to stop. “It’s one thing for the staff to speculate about us indulging in a quickie, and quite another for us to start pulling all-nighters together.”
I reach for my clothes as Matt rolls to his back and links his hands behind his head, a frown on his face.
“Let them. Let the rumors start. We won’t confirm anything until we want to.”
I hesitate for a moment. Just a moment. Then I shake my head. “It’s too soon. I know everyone is hanging on by threads, wanting to see what bills are to be passed in the next few months—those should be the headline news.”
His eyes trail over my bare back as I start dressing, silent, still frowning. “I’ll give them enough to talk about. I’ve got more than one bill in the works; I just need to be sure the parties will cooperate. But Charlotte,” he adds as I head across the room, raising one eyebrow. “We’ll be paying each other a visit every night.”
I bite down on my smile, a fuzzy feeling in my stomach. “Yes, President Hamilton.” I smirk and quietly open the door, exiting his bedroom and crossing the hall toward mine.
13
FIRST LADY
Charlotte
I’m so wicked. Bagging the president by night and being a devoted first lady by day.
I step out of the Virginia elementary school to a gust of wind and a bevy of reporters, some of whom were actually allowed into the classroom by the school as I read books to the kids, and told them how reading has improved my life dramatically, giving me knowledge of the things I liked and those I wanted to change in the world, too.
A little girl with cute curly pigtails mentioned that she wanted to grow up to be me, and I laughed, but told her I had a better idea—that she would make a far better her than she would anyone else.
I can’t stop thinking about that as I ride in the back of the state car to the White House.
I ride with Stacey beside me. I love how efficient she is, always whispering into her mic, opening and closing the doors, carving a path for me.
“My life used to be a little bit more normal,” I tell her, peering out the window at the White House as the gates open for us. “Have you worked at the White House for long?”
“Four years. I was on the previous first lady’s detail.”
“What can one expect from the life of a first lady?”