Billionaire Baby Daddy

by Claire Adams

  He knelt and kissed me once more. I could feel the passion digging into my gut. I wanted him to stay; I wanted to continue fucking him, to have him continue fucking me. I reached up and brought my arms around him, and he carried me into the bedroom, tucking me beneath the covers.

  “What’s going on?” I whispered to him, my words so sleepy, so disoriented. “Where are you going?”

  He was pulling his pants on, buttoning his shirt. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” he whispered. “My gorgeous, gorgeous secret.”

  I bit my lip and hid beneath the covers for a moment, barely believing what I’d just done. I’d fucked the President of the United States. And I felt my heart falling for him, harder and harder with every single passing second.

  What was I going to do?

  Chapter Twelve

  I rose early, feeling the pulsing headache emanating through my forehead. I brought my legs over to the side, leaning my head into my hands. Every limb throughout my naked body seemed to quake. What the hell had happened last night?

  I stood, feeling my nakedness reveal itself to the sunlit room. The open window presented a chorus of birds’ songs that lifted my spirits so readily, making me jump to the coffee machine and begin the brew. I couldn’t believe the previous night had happened. I stood naked in the kitchen, doing a slight dance for myself, my eyes closed.

  I took a quick shower and dressed for work, seeing myself in a whole new light. I knew that the president understood the secrecy of the previous night, and for some reason, I wasn’t worried. This was always going to happen. There was something in us that couldn’t resist each other. Why should we fight it?

  I took a taxi to work, like normal, and found myself in a sea of phone calls, of flying papers. I smiled to myself, loving the chaos once more. I reminded myself that this was all for the man of my dreams: that each day of my life, I worked to propel his life forward. And in turn, he propelled me forward, as well. We were the perfect political team. Except, of course, that we were completely off the record.

  I was sure it had happened before.

  I was sitting at my desk, rifling through various memos, when I received the call. I grabbed the phone and sighed into it, knowing that even he couldn’t make me feel strange this day. “Hello, Jason.” I waited for my second-in-command to speak.

  His voice was strained. “Listen, Amanda. I need you to come into my office.”

  I grew a bit haughty in these moments, admittedly. “I’m sorry, Jason. That will have to wait. I have a phone meeting with Atlanta in 20 minutes.”

  But Jason was persistent. “No, Amanda. This is very urgent. I need you to reschedule all of your phone calls for the day. Get in here. Now.”

  I raised my eyebrow, growing angry. I was first-in-command; he was second. A solid second. But something in his voice forced me to agree. I gathered a few of my papers, wondering what had gone wrong. Perhaps some rating in Texas or Alaska had fallen. Something was always happening somewhere. We couldn’t control a group of people bigger than 25.

  As I walked to Jason’s office, my mind dwelled on a million other Xavier-related things. The touch of his hand on my spine; the way his tongue had felt on my pussy, on my nipples. I bit my lip as I walked, feeling so horny, even there at the office. I wondered if I could just sweep off to his Oval Office, only for a moment—

  I opened Jason’s office, and he stood up, his eyes brimming with anger.

  “What is it?” I asked him, raising my eyebrow once more. I realized, in that moment, that I really didn’t like Jason. He’d asked me out, and he hadn’t taken my refusal well. He was a sore loser as both a potential partner and a second-in-command. “Make it quick. I still didn’t cancel those phone interviews.”

  Jason stepped forward. “I have a few questions for you, Amanda.”

  His voice was so harsh, forcing me into a seat in front of his desk. I’d never sat there before; in fact, I’d never been to his office before. I’d always assumed it was below my pay grade. One of those Big Mouth Bass singing fish sat on his desk with a big sign that said, ‘HIT ME’ on it.

  “I’m sorry? You have questions for me? Because I think the only questions we need to ask are to the voters,” I stated, crossing my arms over my chest. His aggressiveness was outrageous.

  Jason reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and leafed out a manila envelope. He tapped the edge of it against his lip. “What the hell is this about?” he asked. His voice was coy, almost excited.

  I was tired of playing his game. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, obviously,” I said, smacking my hand on my lap. “You won’t give me a single hint. Is it—I don’t know. Ratings from the week?”

  He shook his head, his eyes glowing. “Guess again.” His voice was brimming with laughter.

  I shrugged once more. “Fuck. I don’t know. A picture of your new laser hair chest removal?” I hated that the words came out of my mouth, but there they were. I watched him flinch, but only for a moment. Why didn’t this bother him more?

  “All right. Give me the envelope,” I stated, swinging my hand over the desk. I twitted my fingers a bit. “I’m tired of playing your game.”

  “Oh, no. I’m certain the entire federal government will be tired of playing your game in time,” Jason said, his eyes dark. “How’d you do it, Amanda? You sleep with the head boss? With everyone’s fucking boss?”

  I flung my body over the desk now, growing so hot and angry. All thoughts of my supreme happiness from the previous evening had fallen to the ground, and I now sat in a pit of rage. I grasped the envelope out of his hand and I brought it toward my chest, huffing. My nose flared. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “Look at the goddamned pictures,” Jason said haughtily. He wrapped his hand around his throat, feeling at a red rash that was growing. Nerves, I thought.

  I opened the envelope, noticing that my hands were shaking. I hated that I was shaking in his presence. I cleared my throat and I removed the pictures, one by one.

  In my lap sat three photos. All of them were of Xavier and I, making love throughout my apartment.

  My heart sank. I felt the tears forming in my eyes—tears of shock, tears of anger. I couldn’t believe this was happening. One featured him behind me as I was positioned on all fours, on the table. A look of supreme pleasure rested on my face, and my breasts were open, so wide to the camera. In another, we were featured on the couch, my legs up around his neck and his dick thrust deep inside of me. His mouth was open in fits of pleasure. In another, I was straddling him, placing his dick in my mouth.

  I brought my earnest, angry face toward Jason. “Who gave these to you?” I rasped. I felt my heart beating so fast in my chest. “Where the fuck did these come from?”

  POWER #2

  Chapter One

  Jason, in a supreme, suave motion, swept the photos back into a folder, looking pleased with himself. I felt a single tear rushing down my cheeks as I gaped at him. The silence emanated between us.

  He raised his eyebrow. “I can assure you that I’ve kept these photos to myself.” His ruffled shirt was tucked into his pants half-heartedly, like he’d been too excited about proving to me that he was above me, that he had my number—too excited to even tuck in his shirt appropriately.

  “Why did you keep them? You could ruin me. You could ruin him,” I whispered.

  Jason scoffed. “Of course. And you think I want that? To completely ruin you?” He cackled, tossing his head back. There was something so slimy about his laugh—something that didn’t make me so fearful. Rather, it made me want to cover my nose, like he was something foul-smelling that had been stuffed down my throat.

  I wasn’t sure how to argue with him—how to reason with him. I cleared my throat. “Then what’s your angle, here?” I asked him, gesturing toward the folder. “Why would you come to me with these photos?” The images were still burned in my head: the images of me on that table, of his body over mine. I shivered. The
worst thing that could ever happen had happened: I’d had an affair with the president and I’d been caught on camera.

  “You mean—why did I place cameras in your apartment to catch this sure, brimming affair between you and the president?” he asked me. He cackled once more, leaning over his desk. I could smell his breath.

  “I could turn you in—“ I began, so angry. “I could turn you in for—for breaking and entering—“

  He laughed again, sniffing. “You really are hilarious,” he cackled. “Brains, humor, and beauty. No wonder the president wanted to fuck your brains out.”

  I felt like punching him, then. I righted myself, no longer feeling like a victim. I wanted to kick this guy’s ass. “If you want to verbally abuse me with these photos, then have at me and let me get the fuck out of here,” I said, my mind rushing. I knew that he had done this only because I hadn’t agreed to go on a date with him; I knew that he’d done this only because I had power over him. He wasn’t comfortable with it. He was rogue.

  But he shook his head, ruffling his hand over his chin. “No, no. I want so much more than that. Sure, a jab here and there. But I think that I can use you, Amanda. And here, all this time, you thought that you could use me.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked him, my breath coming hot. I’d thought that Jason was a good worker; I’d actually been considering him for a promotion. I wanted to take him up with me. Xavier had stated that I would eternally have a job at the White House. And thus, I wanted to take all my people with me, to the top.

  He leaned still closer to me. “I’m going to use you, Amanda. I’m going to use you better than this cunt president we have used you. I’m going to force you to take me to the top—to even push me ahead of you. You have the president under your thumb, so to speak. And I’m the only one who knows about it.”

  My anger grew in me at an alarming rate. I felt myself push my hands forward and grab the folder from his hands. I brought those terrible photos into the light and I started to rip at them voraciously, feeling their vitality splinter away in my hands. I wanted to scream out, and I felt my throat so hot, so raspy. “Goddamn you,” I called to him.

  This wouldn’t be the way he got anywhere. I could destroy these photos. I wouldn’t let him kick me to the bottom—not after all that I’d been through. I’d worked my way to the top for a purpose. I hadn’t worked so far just for fine dinners with the president, for raucous flings on my kitchen table with the most powerful man in the world. I couldn’t help what I felt for that man, but this had nothing to do with my need and desire for power.

  I ripped and tore at the photos, flinging them to the trash can. I brought my hand into my purse and brought out a small matchbook. With my eyes on Jason, I snapped the match over the match box and watched the light spring up into the air. I dropped it into the fire, over the gleaming photos. Together, for only a moment, we watched the fire begin.

  But Jason had begun to laugh once more. I looked up toward him and watched how the fire flickered in his eyes. His teeth were so white, so bright. I could see his tongue lolling around in his mouth.

  I stood there, stupidly, with the fire still burning between us. It had eaten the paper, and it had begun to char the interior tin. I held my hands over my stomach and blinked at him for several moments.

  Finally, he spoke. He leaned against his hands, over the desk, and coughed. “Darling, darling. If you thought I didn’t have these digitally backed up, you’re a lot stupider than I initially assumed.”

  My heart burned.

  I realized how rash, how dumb I’d been. I was usually so certain of each of my actions, but I’d lost my head in the previous few weeks. I swallowed as he continued.

  “No matter how many of these photos you rip up and burn in my trash can, these photos can still get out to the public. You’ll ruin our president’s life if you don’t cooperate with me. What’s more, you’ll be deemed the slut of the White House. No one wants to hear that the president’s been sleeping with his campaign manager. What a scandal.” He ticked his tongue against the top of his mouth, his eyes still glittering from the fire.

  I spun around, then, feeling the tears running hot and steady down my face. I pushed through the door and began running through the familiar hallways, back toward my desk. A small girl—one of the campaign workers—rushed toward me with a phone pressed to her chest. Her eyes were wide. “Amanda! I have a very important question for you—“

  But I held up my hand, shaking my head. “I have a terrible migraine, Denise,” I whispered, placing my hand on my head. “Please. Give me—give me just a moment.”

  Denise looked at me with a gaped expression on her face. She wasn’t sure what to do, I knew, but I wasn’t cut out for this anymore. Not now. I had done too much—I’d nearly ruined the entire operation.

  I caught my cardigan around my bony shoulders and I grabbed my bag. In the dark hallway, back toward the Oval Office, I saw Xavier suddenly. He peeked out of his office, like he was watching me from afar. His shadow was so dark. I felt my body shiver with longing for him. But I knew—I knew everything had to stop. It had to stop dead. He didn’t know what was at stake.

  I ran toward the steps, turning away from the president. I could still feel his eyes on me as I fled. The tears continued as I rushed into a taxi and told the driver to take me the fuck home.

  Chapter Two

  In the back of the taxi, I allowed the tears to fall fast down my cheeks. My long fingers clung to my cheeks. I could hear the taxi driver in the front seat, whistling away with such utter contentment.

  “Miss? Are you all right?” he finally asked me, peering at the rearview mirror.

  I nodded, choking a bit.

  Truly, the anger was pulsing through me, throwing me off. I didn’t feel like my true self. Just the day before, I’d been so enraptured with the president. I’d been of the—albeit, strained—belief that he and I could be together, that nothing could stop us.

  And yet this man, Jason, who I’d viewed as a friend before, turned on me. He’d given me to the dogs. And now, I was to be his slave.

  No one had ever gotten the better of me. All the way through college, I’d won every campaign I’d come up against. I’d been wide-eyed and assertive; no one had ever dared to cross me. Even the men in my life hadn’t dared to keep up with me. They’d allowed me to pass, like a great ship through the night, beside them and then beyond them. Everyone knew that I was headed toward greater things. And I’d always known that, as well.

  The taxi turned right, down my street. I pushed open the door of the taxi and handed the man several bills. I didn’t make eye contact with him, didn’t thank him. I didn’t want contact. I certainly didn’t want anyone to really, really see me cry—to see the desolation lurking behind my eyes.

  I charged up my steps, toward my apartment, my former sanctuary. I dropped my things and began looking around the place with fury. I had to find the cameras—the cameras that were currently ruining my life. I had to get them out. I tried to imagine Jason in my apartment, placing the cameras in various places. I wondered if he had any others; of me sleeping on my couch, for example. Of me drinking wine. Of me simply getting undressed and preparing for the day. I shuddered. The invasion of privacy was something I couldn’t get over. What do people do when they don’t know they’re being watched?

  Everything.

  I wanted to report him so badly, but I felt like I was pushed against a wall with his hand against my mouth. I could cry out as much as I wanted, but he would press harder and harder until I couldn’t breathe anymore. He would stifle me, stifle me until both my career and Xavier’s career were dead forever.

  I started at the top of the refrigerator, where I felt like the camera had been positioned that captured us atop the table. I ruffled my hand over the top haphazardly. I knocked a forgotten magazine onto the ground, allowing dust to scatter everywhere. I started to cough, grasping my throat.

  I spun around, my hands on
my hips. I sauntered toward the couch and plucked up the bottle of wine on the coffee table. I flung it back, toward my mouth, and allowed the full flavor to graze down my tongue. I felt the wine immediately alter my brain, making me feel a bit woozy. The dizziness cut through my disdain.

  I flung back toward the kitchen and began to rifle through the cabinets, tossing things to the ground. Cereal fell to the floor: bowls, plates, everything. I heard a wine glass crash to the ground and fling itself into a million little glass pieces. I tugged at my hair, wondering where the cameras would be.

  Finally, I swept back toward the fine armoire that sat on the other side of my dining room table. On the inside of the armoire sat all the fine china that had been passed down on my mother’s side, from my grandmother’s grandmother. It glinted in the afternoon light.

  On the inside of the armoire, I found it: the camera. It was blinking at me in the darkness of the cabinet, as if it was saying hello. I sniffed at it, turning it this way, then that. I whispered into it, suddenly, muttering the words: “I’ve got you, here. Yes, I do.”

  I suddenly flung the camera into the sink. I turned on the sink and allowed it to die there at the bottom, still blinking at me for several moments before finally giving itself over to death.

  Breathing heavily, I was finally able to pulse through the rest of the apartment and find the remaining cameras. I found three in total, and I allowed each of them to die a very wet death at the bottom of my sink. I poured myself a very full glass of wine and drank it alone at my kitchen table, still watching the light from the lamp as it glimmered over the broken glass on the floor. I knew that this was representative of the terror of my situation; I knew that I was currently mid-repair. How long would this fucking situation put me back from my goals?

  I would have to be careful in the future. I would have to watch my back. I couldn’t get bleary-eyed with adoration for that man—the President of the United States.