Power #5 (The Power Romance Series - Book #5)

by Adams, Claire

  We arrived at the bar, then. We entered and peered around us. The place was dark, a bit crusty, with graffiti on the walls. Twenty and young thirty-somethings were dancing with great movements, tossing their arms into the air, holding their drinks high. The music bumped into my heart, and I smiled toward Rachel, mouthing the words: “Do you want to get a drink?”

  We each got a gin and tonic from the bar, and we sat near the wall of the club, peering around for Michael.

  “Just got a text!” Rachel jolted, holding her phone up like a beacon. “He said he’ll be here in five minutes!”

  I paused, taking a drink from my gin. “It’s so good to see you happy,” I murmured. I knew she could hardly hear me over the music.

  Rachel understood. “Thanks, Amanda. I want to see you happy, as well. And you do—you seem like things are working out? What is going on, anyway—with everything at the White House?”

  I bit my lip, knowing I needed to tell her. She was my best friend; she was the only person I could trust in this world, besides, of course Xavier. “I can’t tell you too much, of course,” I began. The music pounded into our faces. What a strange, oddly private place to discuss an affair with a president, I thought abstractly. “You’ve been such a help the past few months, always listening to me as I complain. But I have to tell you. I think it’s almost over, that it’s finally working itself out.”

  Rachel’s eyebrows rose. “How is that?”

  “Well. I suppose it isn’t working itself out so much as I’m simply meant to—to loosen up a bit. About my five year plan. About everything. He’s understanding about my goals. And we’re just going to take it easy, have fun.” I nodded, affirmed in the words. My heart lightened with each moment.

  A smile stretched across Rachel’s face. She placed her hand over my arm—a comfort. “I think that’s wonderful, Amanda,” she breathed. “Have fun with it. Live and learn.” She swallowed. I sensed that she didn’t have much to say—that her mind was lurking with thoughts of Michael. But finally, she said something else: “Please remember. I will always be your friend. You can count on me to tell me things. I can keep secrets.” She winked toward me, stretching a grin across my face.

  Suddenly, before us stood a large man with broad shoulders, a goofy grin. He held two drinks in his hand, and he gestured one out for Rachel to take. Rachel’s eyes were bright toward him. She stood up beside him and greeted him with words I couldn’t hear over the driving beat. The man named Michael shook my hand, and the two young lovers swept out onto the dance floor, to understand each other better in this rushing world.

  As I watched them, I stood up, knowing it was time for me to take my exit, that I had to find a different route. That Rachel didn’t need me, just then. I spun around, allowing my pretty brunette hair to gloss down my back. I was gone from the club in an instant. As I rushed down the street, my hand held high in the air to hail a taxi, I could still hear the bumping beat of that club. It seemed that everything felt alive, in these moments. Everything was vital.

  Chapter 9

  The following day, I sat at my office desk, speaking with a client in California—a big-wig guy who was willing to donate a good deal of money to the campaign. I couldn’t trust any of the campaign workers to handle him. He was all mine.

  “I understand that, sir,” I said, smiling into the phone. “We would just really appreciate your support in this next election. Please remember. You have three children, and the president aims to completely re-calibrate the education in this country. Please consider that you could be changing the lives of both your children and of millions of children, all over the world.”

  The man thought on the other line for a moment. I knew that my words were strong, that they’d already convinced him. He sighed. “Yes. Okay. Put me down for one million,” he said gruffly. It was still early, there. I knew to catch him then—at seven or eight to our ten or eleven in the morning. I was bright-eyed, even as he mumbled through his words.

  “Thank you, sir. The president appreciates your service to the country,” I said—my normal phrase. I pumped my hand into the air, alerting the rest of the campaign team that I’d snagged one million dollars—no small sum in terms of campaign work.

  I slammed the phone down, and everyone in the room cheered for me. I stood up and bowed to them—a bit silly, sure. They laughed, knowing that I was the only person they could trust to lead them to victory. On the other side of the room, Jason sat at his desk once more. He didn’t cheer. He didn’t even look up. I had no clear idea of what he was working on, truly. I wasn’t sure if the president had trusted him with anything after their previous meeting. Maybe he had a crossword puzzle?

  Suddenly, the phone started ringing once more. I recognized the number immediately. “Hello, sir,” I answered, my voice lined with a hint of sensuality—something I knew the people around me couldn’t detect.

  “Amanda. Could I see you in the Oval Office, please?” Xavier asked. He was nearly laughing. “I just saw one million signed onto the donation account. Good work.”

  “Just a little thing we here in the campaign offices call ‘commitment,’ sir,” I laughed, teasing and flirting with him. “I’ll be right there.”

  I tapped down the hallway, feeling light as air. It seemed that so much had fallen off my shoulders in the previous day. It was incredible. I tapped on the Oval Office door, and a secret service agent opened the door before leaving the office, himself. He left Xavier and I alone in the well-lit, luxurious office. I brought my hands over my flat stomach and peered toward him, a bit of laughter on my cheeks.

  “Hello, Amanda,” he said. “Please. Sit down.” He gestured with his strong, stoic arm toward the chair before his desk.

  I leaned down, smiling at him in such a girlish way. I couldn’t stop myself.

  Xavier brought his fingers together, lacing them. “I’d like to talk to you about Jason,” he said finally. His words were deep.

  I nodded. “I noticed he disappeared yesterday,” I said, clearing my throat.

  “Right. I told him to take the day to compose himself, to come back today fully ready to proceed with the campaign.” Xavier leaned forward in his chair and he tapped at the desk before me with his firm fingers. “Listen, Amanda. He won’t be bothering you anymore. Right now, I have three secret service agents—who are specifically trained in security—searching through your apartment to find the hidden cameras. If it’s there, they’ll find it.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking about my apartment once more. My lonely, luxurious apartment. I swallowed. “Thank you, Xavier. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened yesterday during your meeting with—with Jason?” I remembered Jason’s face, so splotched with red, so withdrawn.

  Xavier turned his head toward his desk. He paused before answering. “I am simply a very persuasive person, Amanda. You have to know that about me by now.”

  I bit my lip. “You didn’t persuade me to do anything,” I told him, my voice stern.

  “Well. You’re different from everyone else,” Xavier said, laughing. “Essentially, Jason didn’t want you to tell me anything about the photographs because he knew I could shut him down instantly, like that.” He snapped his fingers with such efficiency. “He knows that I’m a powerful force, someone who can ruin him.”

  I swallowed, trying to imagine the conversation. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that if he wanted to continue his political work at the White House—in any fucking capacity—then he had to forget about the photographs. He had to forget entirely about the affair, about blackmailing you, about all of it. If he didn’t want his entire life to be ruined—and to rot in jail for many, many decades—then he had to turn in the USB. He had to sign an affidavit declaring that these were the only copies of the photographs he had.” Xavier cleared his throat. “He seemed—generally upset. If you saw him yesterday, he went a bit crazy when he learned that I knew about his blackmailing. He started smacking his face, tugging at
his shirt. He started having a sort of panic attack. He’s not strong, mentally. Not like you.”

  I blushed, feeling entirely content in that moment. I couldn’t believe it had all worked out—that Xavier had threatened Jason with such force. I brimmed with rays of happiness. “So. It’s over?” I whispered.

  Xavier nodded, bringing his hands out before him. “It appears to be over. It seems that you’re free of this terror. You can return to your home, to your life without fear.”

  I felt a single tear stride down my cheek. I stood up, suddenly, and twirled to the other side of the desk. I flung my arms around Xavier, feeling his beating heart just a few layers of cloth beyond my own. I kissed his cheek. “Thank you. Thank you, Xavier.” My salty tears met with his face.

  He laughed for a moment, allowing me to pull back from him. He rubbed at my back, at my thin waist. He shook his head. “It was my pleasure.”

  I twirled a bit in his arms, sending him flirty looks. “Does this mean we’re in the clear?” I whispered to him. “I mean. Jason knows to stay away. Even your wife knows about us. We can—we can be with each other, in this sort of soft secret, for as long as we like?”

  He nodded, smiling. “Baby. We can do whatever we like, now.”

  I laughed and kissed him deeply in that moment. I felt the warmth emanating from his body, from his mind. He allowed me to sit on his lap, rubbing at his tense shoulders. He peered up at me, blinking his big, black eyes. “You don’t want to celebrate tonight, do you?”

  I thought for a moment, picking a piece of lint from Xavier’s suit—as I’d seen Camille do, just a few days before. It was my privilege, then. Our intimacy was great. “I’d love to celebrate.”

  “Good. Good,” Xavier answered. “Camille’s gone for the day, and we can have the whole place to ourselves. A few more hours of work. And we’ll meet back here.” He gestured around his office.

  I kissed him once more before fleeing from his office, a sense of excitement, of zeal coursing through me. Every limb on my body felt so fluid, so light. “In a few hours, Mr. President,” I whispered to him before rushing from the Oval Office and back toward my office.

  At my desk for the rest of the day, I peered around the room, unable to believe what was happening—and fully allowing the happiness of the moment to glide over me, unaffected by anything else. I knew that this daydream-y state: this was a fully-formed version of love. I’d heard about it, read about it. Certainly. But I had never experienced it so strongly. I heard a woman in the corner whisper to her friend. “God, Amanda looks happy. She looks like I did after Jeffrey and I banged the other day.”

  “I hope she’s getting some,” the other friend said. “She’s hot. She deserves it.”

  I laughed, loving these words as they swept toward me. So strange, to hear yourself spoken about. So strange to be a leader of an entire campaign trail—with a great year ahead of you. However, I was up to the task. I was the appropriate person for the position. I would yield incredible strategies to ramp up votes, to maintain Xavier’s stance in the Oval Office. He was My President. And thus, I would keep him where he belonged.

  After several hours, people began to peter out from the building, gliding back to their sad, dismal Washington D.C. apartments in this late October. Half-heartedly, I realized that it was nearly Halloween. I waved goodbye to several of the younger staff members, each of them nearly skipping out into the world. They weren’t made for this schedule yet; their youth and vitality hadn’t been burned from them as readily. Not yet. I hoped it never would.

  Finally, I was the only one in the grey office. Even Jason had gone, dragging his feet down the hallway and allowing his briefcase to bounce against his legs.

  I stood and walked toward the Oval, unbuttoning my blazer as I went. I tossed it onto the white couch in the Oval Office, standing in just my sheer, white button up and my tight, grey skirt. Before me, the president smiled up at me, a pen in his hand. He signed his signature jauntily, and then he burst from the shackles of his desk. He brought his hand around my back and met his lips with mine, bending me back lightly for a passionate kiss in the dying light of the late October day. “Shall we?” he whispered.

  I followed him down the hall, our hands nearly touching. The White House hallways were completely empty, giving me an eerie feeling in my gut. But soon, we had arrived at the White House movie theater. He led me to the front row, setting me up comfortably in a long, leaning chair. He held a finger up to his lips, alerting me that he’d be gone for just a moment. He appeared back with a large bowl of popcorn, with two glasses of wine. I held my hand open and accepted the wine. We clinked the glasses together. I closed my eyes, enjoying the moment completely.

  “What is it?” he asked me.

  I blinked my eyes open in a moment, my eyelids so lazy. “Baby. I’m just so happy,” I murmured.

  I laughed and brought his arm around me, cuddling me in the great White House theater chairs. Before us, the cinematic magic began. Key Largo, one of the old classics. Humphrey Bogart spoke gruffly on scene, his eyes dark and calculating. I brought my body closer and closer toward Xavier, feeling like we were one, there in that theater—that anything that ever came up against us would ultimately falter. We were far too strong, and we’d been through too much already.

  In the middle of the movie, it cut to intermission. The lights were brought up a bit, bringing us up from our comfortable positions in our chairs.

  I swallowed, tapping my empty glass of wine on the table before us. “What do you think so far?” I murmured, my eyes heavy. My body had begun to think only of Xavier beside me. I wanted him; I wanted to feel his arms around me.

  Xavier looked at me, his eyes brimming with sensuality. “To be honest. I can’t think about the movie. I can’t think about anything but you.” His breath came hesitantly. And suddenly, he placed his hand around my head, bringing his lips toward mine. I felt so safe in this moment, held so tightly by the President. I allowed his lips to meet mine. In a spark of electricity, of zeal, we began to kiss passionately. I pushed my body toward his, bringing my breasts hard into his chest. He caught his other hand around my body, brimming around my ass. My pussy began to pulse, wanting his cock deep inside me.

  Xavier broke away from the kiss for a moment, blinking around him. “Let’s go upstairs,” he whispered.

  I nodded, smiling a bit. “Where do you want to go?”

  “The White House has many spectacular rooms,” Xavier murmured, kissing my cheek, my nose. “I have one all set up for us. You’ve heard of the Lincoln bedroom?”

  My breath caught in my throat. Of course I’d heard of the Lincoln bedroom. It was the bedroom in which important people stayed when they visited the White House—the bedroom kept supreme, beautiful for fine guests. I swallowed, unsure of what to say.

  “Come on,” Xavier whispered, sensing my joy. He brought my hand into his, and he led me down the hall. We swept down the curling staircases, laughing together and feeling this uproarious sense of happiness, of zeal.

  He opened the Lincoln bedroom, then, and revealed the marvelous, gold-laid and beautifully decorated room. I brought my hands to my mouth, staring at this portion of history—this stunning room that seemed to tell a story about the many hundreds of years of history—history that I knew Xavier and I would be a part of, someday. I lurched around to find Xavier closing the door, pushing at a small cart. In the cart was a chilling bottle of champagne and two champagne glasses.

  “Shall we have a toast?” he asked me. He brought the champagne into the air, eyeing the label. “It’s a 1980 bottle. Amazing what they keep around here,” he said, winking at me. He removed the fine wrapping from the top and allowed the cork to pop—high—into the air in the Lincoln bedroom. The noise emanated throughout the room. I clapped my hands, laughing, allowing my teeth to cut out from my mouth.

  He poured the champagne, and we clinked glasses, our eyes linked. In that moment, I felt that we were officially one. The bubbles coursed d
own my throat, to my stomach. I closed my eyes. In that moment, I felt Xavier’s mouth over mine once more. The surprise made my heart race. I set the champagne on the bedside table, and I allowed him to lay me down on the bed, kissing over me, rolling his tongue over mine. I sighed deeply.

  He began to unbutton my shirt, then. My bra gleamed beneath, and he ran his fingers through the top, making my nipples pop from beneath. They were so brown, so secret beneath the white.

  He pulled my skirt from my body, followed by my tights. I lay, splayed out, naked and thin on the sheets. My brunette hair curled around my shoulders. He stood before me, looking down at my body. He reached for his champagne glass and sipped at it, studying me. “You should show me,” he whispered then.

  “Show you what?” I asked.

  “How you pleasure yourself.”

  My eyes grew bright. I brought my hands toward my hot, dripping pussy. I felt myself, how ready I was for him. God, I wanted him. As soon as I touched my clit, my brain began to open, to make me feel like an animal—an animal with needs, with desires. I sighed as I began to rub at myself, closing my eyes.

  “Yeah, baby. I like watching you touch yourself,” Xavier murmured. He set his champagne glass back down, and he laid beside me, bringing his tongue around and around my nipple as I continued to touch myself. He removed his pulsing cock from his pants, then. He remained in his presidential suit and tie, but his huge, brimming cock was out, ready to take me.

  I sighed as I continued to rub myself, feeling myself. And he rolled me over, bringing his dick into my hot pussy from behind. I called out, loudly, as he entered me. I reached up and grabbed my tits, feeling the passion of the moment course through me. I felt like I was on display, being the only naked one in the room—like it was all about me, about my body, about my pussy, about my great breasts. “Yeah, baby,” I murmured. “Harder. Yeah.”