The Daddy Series Books 1 - 4

by Hamel, B. B.

  “I can’t stop thinking about this,” I whisper to her. “Fuck, ever since I first saw you, I knew I had to taste you.”

  “Mr. President,” she whispers.

  I laugh softly. “No, don’t call me that. I want you to call me something else.” I slide my fingers deep inside of her.

  She groans. I pull them back out, teasing her clit, push her back, make her support herself on her hands as I slide my fingers back inside her pussy.

  She opens her legs wide. “What do you want me to call you?” she asks between moans.

  I fuck her pussy with my fingers. “You’re not ready for that yet.”

  “Please,” she begs. “I’m ready. I’m ready for whatever you want, Adam.”

  I smirk at her, pushing my fingers deep. I curl my fingers, stroking the roof of her pussy, finding her soft spot. She gasps in pure pleasure as I stroke it more.

  “Fuck,” she groans, full breasts shaking as her whole body shudders. “Please, Adam. I need it.”

  “You need it?” I smirk, kissing her neck. “You want to know what I want you to call me?”

  “Please,” she groans.

  I slide my fingers in deep again. “I want you to call me Daddy.”

  She bites her lip as I pull back, teasing her pussy, stroking her clit. “Daddy?” she asks.

  “That’s right. You’re half my age. I want you to call me Daddy when I make you come.”

  She bites her lip again as I slide my fingers deep again. “You’ll take care of me?”

  “Of course,” I say softly. “I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

  “Fuck,” she whispers. “President Daddy.”

  I smirk and drop to my knees. I tug her to the edge of the table, push her legs open, and slide her panties to the side.

  I start slowly at first, licking her clit, sucking it softly. She grabs my hair, clearly loving it, one hand behind her to support her weight. I taste her, tease her, give her a little bit of pleasure before I push her too far.

  I love her delicious little pussy. I love the way she tastes, the way I can roll her around my tongue and get her moaning, the way I can push my tongue inside her tight cunt and lick her all up.

  I suck and work her clit, moving faster, tongue tight against her skin. Her fingers tighten in my hair.

  I squeeze her ass, push her tighter against my mouth. I suck and lick faster, tasting her, loving her. I need it so badly I can barely stand it myself.

  Her moans drive me wild. Loud and deep and full. She’s not afraid of someone hearing. I don’t care, either.

  I want her to feel this. I want her to reach it.

  Pure, deep ecstasy.

  I slide my fingers inside her pussy as I lick and suck her clit. She gasps. Her fingers tighten in my hair.

  I grunt, fuck her with my fingers, suck her clit. I want to get her off so badly I can hardly stand it. My cock’s rock hard, but that’ll have to wait.

  We don’t have a lot of time. I know I have to get back eventually.

  And all I need is for her to come. I suck her, licking and rolling her clit while my fingers slide in and out, faster and faster, deeper and harder.

  She groans, legs tightening. I push them apart again, squeeze her ass.

  “Fuck, Daddy,” she gasps. “I’m so close. Keep doing that.”

  I lick just like that, faster, faster. She groans, head thrown back.

  “Oh, fuck, Daddy,” she gasps. I can barely control myself. I’m going fucking wild as she comes.

  It tastes so fucking good. I love the way she gets off, her body tensing, shaking slightly, a smile on her lips. “Ah, ah, fuck, ah,” she gasps, moans barely audible.

  I lick her through it, past her orgasm, deeper than I bet she’s ever been before. Slowly, she climbs back out from whatever pleasure space she went to, taking deep, gasping breaths.

  “Fuck,” she groans. “God damn. Fuck.”

  I tease her through it before slowly pulling my fingers back out. I put her panties back into place and stand up, cleaning her off my fingers with my tongue.

  She leans back, breathing fast, staring at me. I smirk.

  “Good girl,” I say.

  She laughs a little, clearly flustered. “That was, uh…”

  “That was the best fucking orgasm of your life,” I say. I lean forward and kiss her lips. I know she can taste herself.

  I want her to.

  She stares at me as I step away.

  “Come and see me again soon,” I say.

  “Yes, Daddy,” she says.

  I grin at her and leave the room. Ramirez is standing at the end of the hall and he nods as I approach.

  I nod back, unable to stop myself from smiling.

  7

  Maggie

  I’m buzzing with him for the rest of the night. I can barely concentrate on anything else around me.

  “You okay?” Iris asks at one point.

  I just nod. “Fine.”

  “Uh huh. You keep spacing out.”

  “Sorry.”

  “And you were staring at the President.” She gives me a huge grin.

  I turn slightly red. “Really?”

  “Nah, just messing with you. But now I know you’re thinking about him.”

  I glare at her. “Cut it out.”

  “No, you cut it out. Get out there and mingle like the rest of us.”

  I sigh, but I get my butt into gear. I shake hands, talk about the polling projects Roger’s interested in, the whole thing. I can’t help but keep one eye on the President, though.

  I still have his spit between my legs, and my panties are absolutely ruined, thanks to him.

  I get home late that night. I don’t speak to Adam again, but I can’t stop thinking about him. I manage to take my dress off and get into the bathtub around midnight.

  I ease myself into the water, sighing, just as my phone starts to ring.

  “Of course,” I grumble, but it’s within reach. I sit up and stare at the private number again before answering.

  “Hello, Maggie.”

  I bite my lip. It’s him. Of course it’s him. “Hello yourself.”

  “Long time, no see.”

  “I was just thinking about you.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Well, I had to come right home and take a bath.”

  He snorts. “Bath?”

  “Right. Since you left me dirty.”

  “Hardly. I cleaned you right up.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Please. And baths don’t clean anything, anyway.”

  “Sure they do.”

  “Not at all. You just sit in it.”

  “Well, I shower after.”

  “So what’s the point of the bath?”

  “Relaxation.” I sigh. “Did you just call to annoy me about my bath habit?”

  “No,” he admits. “I just called to hear your voice.”

  “How did you do tonight?”

  “Good,” he admits. “Hated every second of it. You?”

  “Same, except I did awful. I’m not great at that.”

  “You’re lucky then. Roger might leave you behind next time.”

  “I hope so.”

  He laughs and I can’t help but smile. It’s so strange to be on the phone with the President right now, just talking like normal people.

  “Listen, I meant to see you sooner,” he says softly. “But I’ve been busy.”

  “I know. I read.”

  He hesitates. The Pakistan thing’s been all over the news. People are praising his daring rescue mission, particularly since it went well.

  Although some people are saying it was a dangerous gamble. I don’t know all the details, so I’m trying not to judge.

  “That’s not my favorite part about being President,” he admits.

  “Do you have a favorite part?”

  I can practically hear his grin. “Just teasing young female staffers.”

  “Oh, yeah? Teasing many?”

&
nbsp; “Just one’s enough for me.”

  “I doubt it. You’re a pig.”

  “What can I say. I’m the President.”

  I groan. “Don’t be gross.”

  “Don’t be jealous.”

  I sigh and sink deeper into the water. There are bubbles floating on the surface from a bath bomb I dropped in just before turning on the water.

  We talk for another twenty minutes, mostly about nothing. He asks about how the job’s going, he vents a little about his stress. It’s surprisingly normal, surprisingly comfortable.

  “I should go,” he says finally. “Lots of important presidential work to do tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up the phone.

  I drop mine onto the floor and dunk my head under the water, trying to come to grips with this strange relationship that I’ve found myself in.

  * * *

  Almost exactly twelve hours later, I find myself standing in front of the President, a binder in my hands.

  The last time I spoke with him, I was dripping wet and naked. Now I’m wearing a black business outfit, my hair pulled back into a tight bun.

  Oh, and we’re surrounded by almost his entire inner staff.

  There are probably twenty people in the room, and all their eyes are on me as I read out our latest polling data. We did a quick dive into the Pakistan incident, and found that mostly people think it was handled well.

  I can see the relief on Adam’s face. “Most respondents believe the President did what he had to do,” I tell the gathered crowd. “If you look at your binder, you’ll see the exact breakdown by gender, age, and location. The heartland always supported military action, so that’s pretty normal, but the coasts are behind this as well.”

  I glance at Adam, but I don’t linger. I try not to watch him too closely.

  I want to talk to him. I want to touch him. I want to feel what I felt last night, in the tub, on the table. Both normal and excited.

  This affair, or whatever we’re having, is dangerous. But it feels so freaking good.

  As I finish the Pakistan numbers, Adam raises his hand. I stop speaking.

  “Healthcare?” he asks, face serious.

  I nod, flipping a few pages. “This is just preliminary, but so far…” I take a breath. “It’s tight, Mr. President. The country is split.”

  He nods, looking concerned. “Split how?”

  “I believe many people don’t fully understand Medicare For All. They think it would be more expensive, lead to worse care, long lines, all the usual excuses.”

  He grunts. “How do we educate them?”

  One of his staffers speakers up. I stand by while they spitball for a few minutes, but slowly the President gets them under control.

  “Okay, okay,” he says. “Ms. Thomas, can you look into some of these ideas? Find out what people think?”

  I frown. “I can try.”

  “Good. Get it done.” He stands, indicating that the meeting is over.

  People shake hands, making quick small talk as they leave. The President approaches me.

  “Well done,” he says softly, taking my elbow with one hand and shaking with the other. “Thank you for that data.”

  I feel him slip something into my palm. I grab it, slide it in my hand, cover it with my thumb.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Get back to me when you can.”

  I nod and turn away. I don’t want to linger.

  I leave the room and start back toward the office. I have to duck into a bathroom because I can’t wait.

  I hop into a stall, sit down, and unfold the piece of paper in my hand.

  Thinking of you.

  I stare at those three words. That’s all the tiny note has room for, just three words.

  Thinking of you.

  What the hell am I doing?

  He’s the President. He’s twice my age.

  And here I am, letting him pass me notes like we’re in school.

  I love it. I hate to admit it, but I love it. I have butterflies every second of every day.

  Butterflies and terror.

  8

  Adam

  Another week passes as I go to a big conference abroad.

  I think about Maggie pretty much every day. I don’t call her, since I know I’ll be under scrutiny during my first big international trip, but I have her in my thoughts. I hope she knows that.

  This is what being President means, though. I have to push my desires aside sometimes for the greater good.

  And god, do I desire her.

  As soon as we’re back in the States, I go back to work like nothing’s changed. It’s a Wednesday, but there isn’t too much going on. Some meetings, some briefings, nothing intense.

  I retire to the residence as early as I can. I spend the evening eating dinner and reading and finally, when eleven rolls around, I call Maggie.

  I’ve been looking forward to this all fucking week. It’s childish and crazy but I can’t help myself any more. I’ve put it off enough.

  “Hello, Mr. President,” she answers.

  “I haven’t heard your voice in too long,” I say softly.

  “I was beginning to think you forgot about me.”

  “Never. I was elbow-deep in French cheese.”

  “Sounds awful.”

  “It really was, Maggie.”

  She laughs lightly. “You called at a good time. I’m in the bathtub again.”

  “Convenient. Sounds like you’re always in the bath.”

  “I was thinking about you, you know.”

  I can hear the subtext, the hint in her voice.

  I bite my lip. “You don’t have to imagine,” I say softly.

  She hesitates. “How?” It comes out almost whispered.

  “I’ll send a car.”

  “Now? For me?”

  “Right now.”

  “The press will be all over it.”

  “Maybe. Fuck them.”

  She hesitates again. I know what she’s wrestling with. I’ve been wrestling with it myself.

  But I keep thinking about what Ramirez said. I deserve to have a life, even if I have to hide it.

  “Okay,” she says finally.

  “Good.” I hang up the phone and go find Ramirez. I order him to send a car to get Maggie, but to be as discreet as he can.

  He nods. His face doesn’t betray a thing.

  I sit back and wait.

  Every minute is practically an agony. I haven’t felt this way in so long.

  I have to fix myself a drink just to calm my nerves.

  My hand’s practically shaking. I know this is a huge risk, bringing her into the White House like this. Reporters are practically always watching like hawks, trying to spot anything that could be remotely newsworthy.

  I have to trust my agents. That’s all I can do.

  There are ways into the building, secret ways. They’re heavily guarded and protected, and I doubt anyone that isn’t a Secret Service agent or a former President even knows they exist. Maybe some chief of staff from an old administration is aware of them, but I haven’t told Charles.

  They’re old passages for diplomats to move through the halls of power unseen.

  Lies and more lies, nesting dolls of deceit. That’s how the government works.

  I hate it. I wish I could be out in the open about who I am.

  But that’s just not possible.

  Forty minutes drag past like lava. Every second burns me, but eventually, Ramirez appears at the door of the West Sitting Hall, which is basically my private living room.

  He nods at me. “She’s here, sir,” he says.

  “Was she…?”

  “No,” he says simply. “We were discreet.”

  Relief floods me. “Thank you, Ramirez.”

  “Sir, if this is going to become a regular occurrence…” He trails off.

  Fear spikes through me. “Yes?”

  “We’ll nee
d to clear her and establish protocols.”

  “Do what you need to do, agent.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Ramirez steps aside. My heart beats twice, and Maggie appears at the door.

  I step toward her. She enters my living room, looking around.

  “Wow,” she says. “The President’s private room.”

  I laugh a little. “Amazing, right?”

  “It’s smaller than I expected.”

  “I know,” I say. “I always imagined that the private residence was amazing, but…”

  “It’s just any other living room.”

  “Except all this stuff has history, of course.”

  “Of course.” She walks through the space, touching a chair, an end table, a lamp. “Did you decorate at all?”

  “Not really,” I admit. “I actually had a lot of stuff removed.”

  She nods. “It looks simple.”

  “That’s what I wanted.”

  She takes a breath and turns to me. “So. A booty call from the President.”

  I grin at her. “Doesn’t happen every day, does it?”

  “Not at all.”

  I shrug and move over to the little bar I have set up in the corner. I pour her a drink and offer it to her.

  She takes it. “Thanks,” she says, taking a sip. “Your security detail is intense.”

  “I know. But they’re loyal.”

  “Do you get along with them?”

  “Hard to say,” I admit. “They’re never exactly smiling.”

  “I think that’s in the job description.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me one bit. Although the head of my security seems okay with this… arrangement,”

  She raises an eyebrow. “This is an arrangement now?”

  I sigh. “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t.” She sits in a chair and I sit across from her. “I don’t think I know at all.”

  I set myself, meeting her gaze. “Don’t pretend like you’re not here of your own free will.”

  “Like I could say no to the President?”

  I sigh. “Where’s this coming from?”

  She bites her lip, looks away. “Just, being hustled in through this crazy tunnel, it felt…”

  “Dirty,” I finish for her. “Cheap.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”