“Sir,” Secret Service says as he steps forward.
“I’ve got her,” he tells both the agent and the doorman who walks him to his room every day when he also steps up to help. He motions to me to follow.
The staff that we pass on our way there? They smile under their gazes, and too late I worry that this will erupt into a media frenzy.
“My bedroom is that way.” I point when we reach the residence.
“We’re not going to your bedroom.”
The doorman opens the door to Matt’s bedroom, and Matt thanks him. “Go to bed, Bill—we’re done here.”
The door shuts behind us as he drops me down on the bed. I cling and kiss him, burning for him.
He strips quickly and I look at him. All that strength. His muscled arms with silky, dark hairs running along the backs of his forearms. The soft mat of hair on his chest and the line tapering beneath his pants. My gaze following the arrow of hair from his belly button down to the cock beneath.
He crawls on the bed over me, his body hovering over mine, and we’re eye to eye.
He trails his tongue along the seam of my lips. I mewl. “Tell me you want it.”
His erection is heavy against my abdomen as he grips my hip with one hand and my face with the other. He dips his tongue into my mouth with a slow, wet, powerful flick. “Tell me.”
“I want you,” I breathe, arching beneath him.
He slides his hand from my face downward.
Down my throat.
Down my cleavage.
Across my belly button.
Down.
To cup my sex.
And penetrate me with two fingers.
His features tighten with raw passion.
A groan vibrates up his chest. A groan just like the one that vibrates up my own chest.
I shudder beneath him.
He watches me for a moment, eyes darkening by the second as he takes his cock and teases my wet entrance with the head. I’m waiting for him, panting. Wanting. He rocks back and then starts filling me, not with a fast thrust, but with a slow, deliberate drive of his hips that makes me aware of every inch of him entering—every inch possessing me.
He fills me—no condom, all bare, just him—as if he doesn’t plan to leave an inch of me unclaimed, unfucked, or empty. He fills me as if he’s home. He tenses when he’s fully inside, and groans when my body clutches him greedily—my channel gripping his hot length, not wanting to let him go.
We’re both fighting for control, to take it slow, his body shaking with his need. I rock my hips and he does the same, a low growl rumbling up his chest as he lifts his head from my breasts and kisses me, kisses me as if I’m all there is right now, all he wants.
“You’re everything, everything good and pure and right,” he rasps into my mouth. He seizes me by the hips and pulls out only to drive in, so deeply I feel him in my heart.
“And you’re all I want,” I gasp, and he slips his hands under the small of my back and grabs me by the ass, holding me there as he starts pounding me harder. He lowers his head. Forehead hovering above mine. Pounding inside me.
My body starts seizing as I hit the pinnacle. His hard, muscular body moving over me without mercy now. Tears of pleasure burn in my eyes as Matt relentlessly drives in and out, in and out, watching me now—watching me take it, take him, writhe for him, go off for him.
I cry out, a soft yell I fear echoes all over the White House.
I’m lost. I’m his. I don’t want to be anywhere else, will never be anyone else’s, he’s my guy, my commander, my god.
As I come, his eyes flash as he looks down at me, every raw emotion written on his face, every feeling he’s tried to hide in public is out here in the open for me, every ounce of passion etched across his normally impassive face here for me to see.
I come even harder, if that’s possible, my body reverberating top to bottom, side to side, and down to the marrow of my bones.
He reaches his climax right in my depths, and I know it’s because my own climax detonated him. His body pulses with his orgasm. I’m still going off in a crazy undulating motion beneath him, but he holds me down by the hips and forces me to take everything. A thousand bursts of color behind my eyelids. I cling to his body and hear him exhale in satisfaction against the top of my head.
We fall still, our breaths echoing in the Lincoln bedroom. I ache because of him and I also ache for more. Even when he’s still hard inside me.
A sheen of sweat coats our bodies. Matt’s coffee gaze feathers over my naked form.
“I can’t get enough of you.”
He sounds amazed and a little frustrated as he cradles the back of my head as he lifts me up an inch for his mouth. He pushes his tongue inside until I mewl softly. “Fuck if I’m not ready to take you again,” he says, his voice gruff as he slides his large, gentle hand down my abdomen.
He cups me between my thighs and gently feels me.
“How sensitive are you, Charlotte?” he asks, lightly rubbing his index finger along my opening.
I hear a low mewl leave me. I want to lick him up, every inch of him, and I definitely crave to lick every inch of his big presidential cock.
“I want you,” I breathe. “Again and again. And I want to …”
I let my eyes fall on his erection and shuffle my body closer. I stare at his cock, the head turgid and swollen, the veins popping up the length. Matt is so swollen he feels heavy in my hand as I reach him. I cup his balls in both my hands, then slide my fingers upward, encircling his width with both my hands as I take him in my mouth.
The taste of the salty drop of pre-cum already on the tip of his cock along my tongue makes me moan deep inside.