by Lily Harlem
John shakes his head and flashes me a grin. “I can’t believe you really did it, Raine. You really are the President of the United States. It seems such a short time ago you were ranting on about how you were going to change the world and now you can.”
“You’d better believe it.” I shrug off my suit jacket and sit down in the hook of his shoulder, desperately hoping to recapture the serious neck kissing we were so rudely interrupted from. “I could hit that button any time and cause a world war, you know.”
John laughs. “You’re such a pacifist, I bet you don’t even know where the button is.”
“Of course I do.”
“Where?”
“Right here.”
“In this office?”
“No… it’s on me, at all times.”
He looks at me like I’m mad and then a knowing grin spreads on his suddenly boyish face. “That’s not a war button, sweetheart, that’s a lurve button.” He laughs and scoops my dangling necklace into his hand, letting his knuckles graze the soft mound of my generous breast. “Which reminds me…”
“What?”
“I’ve got you a present, but I’ll have to show you later.” He stares at my nipple responding eagerly to his feathery touch through the thin material of my blouse. “It’s not the sort of thing I can give you in the Oval Office.”
“I have a private dressing room.”
“Tempting. I want you so much it hurts,” he says, his grin dropping and his face becoming serious. “But it’s impossible to do anything about it in here.”
“The private dressing room,” I say again with a note of frustration.
A frown ploughs across his forehead and his mouth sets in a tight line. The back of his hand switches to my other breast and the nipple responds with similar speed.
“We’ll just say I’m showing you ‘round if anyone asks.” My breath hardens with desire.
“Showing me your dressing room? I’m not sure how believed we’ll be, Raine.”
“I’ll buzz and tell my secretary we mustn’t be disturbed.”
“Will that Drake guy take any notice? He seems pretty intense around you.”
“He’ll be fine. Hilda can be pretty damn scary when she’s doing something I’ve specifically asked of her.”
John closes his eyes for a long second as if weighing up the risks. But I know he likes risk and feeds off an adrenaline rush. I’ve seen him take chances before so we can be together. But today the stakes are high, as high as they get, making love in the Oval Office, actually going for it here and now when we’re supposed to be making important, world altering decisions, while our countries tax payers and voters are out at work. Can he do it? Can we do it?
Of course we can. Knowing how naughty we are, how ridiculously inappropriate it is, is the biggest turn on of all.
I stand from the sofa, not wanting to leave his side but knowing I must to put the final piece in place for our plan. I press the intercom and tell Hilda in a stern voice that we must not, under any circumstances, be disturbed.
I turn from the table expecting to see John still sprawled on the sofa and needing gentle persuasion, but he’s already looming at my side. His eyes are heavy with lust as he reaches for me and drags my body hard against his. I feel the urgency of his need pressing into my stomach and catch my breath as his lips find mine and hit down hungrily.
The gentle back-togetherness has gone and now it’s all about getting satisfaction as quickly as possible before we’re rumbled.
He steers me towards a large panelled door to the right.
“No, no,” I breathe into his mouth. “That’s a file cupboard, over there, that’s the dressing room.” I take control of our angle and sidestep to the left. Our lips don’t part as we rush to the sanctuary of the private dressing room.
I push at the door and we almost fall inside, breaths coming hard and fast and our hands roaming all over each other’s bodies. We bash the door shut. I flick the small brass bolt across then pause for the briefest of moments to look at his frantic flushed face.
I break my mouth into wide smile, the sheer delight of having the man I dream of in my arms, if only for a few minutes, makes me bubble over with glee.
“What?” he says, matching my wacky grin.
“My present.” I put a hand up to his jaw and cup his slightly scratchy cheek. “I want it.”
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a shiny egg, the exact same powder-pink as the blossom outside.
For a second I’m confused, but quickly he fills me in. “It’s a remote control vibrator—the LoveHoney Dream Egg.”
“I didn’t know such things existed.” My eyes widen as I stare at it.
“Oh yeah, and I’m going to start you coming right now, and believe me baby, with this thing in afterwards, you’ll be riding high all afternoon.” He slips it back into his pocket. “You’re gonna stay up there, balancing on the edge of ecstasy until just before dinner when I’m gonna need some more, very private, intimate time to go over a particularly sensitive matter.”
I smile, knowing he’ll deliver his promise of ecstasy. “I love you so much.”
“I love you more.” He presses his hand over mine and kisses the end of my nose.
For a second I think the moment might switch to tender and slow.
But we don’t have the luxury of time and our bodies are crying out with lusty impatience. His chest slams into mine and I’m pressed back against the door by his solid weight. My wrists are harnessed by his tight grip as he locks them on either side of my head. His tongue explores and probes into my mouth, chasing and finding mine, a crazy, urgent dance. Once again the pressure of his straining erection shoves up against me and sends blood flowing like lava to the very core of my being. Heat spreads from the pit of my stomach, up to my breasts and seeps between my legs, pooling deliciously like a heavy, greedy hole just waiting for him to fill.
He raises my hands above my head and bolts them against the door with just one of his. I whimper a protest. I want my hands on his body. I need to feel him, hold him. But he has other ideas and I’m at the mercy of his brute strength pinning me into submission. It vaguely crosses my mind that if one of the secret service guys saw this, me pinned to a door, John would get a bullet in the back of his head, British Prime Minister or not.
He stoops and presses his forehead to mine, lets his eye-line drop and watches his free hand slide down the hollow of my throat and over the sheer material of my blouse. He pops open a button and delves inside my delicate lace bra. The dense weight of my breast is instantly supported in his hot palm and he circles the pad of his thumb over my nipple. It puckers and tightens further, to the point of discomfort, and when he switches attention to the other side I moan in unashamed delight.
“You feel so good,” he grunts into my now messy hair and suckles my ear. “Just like I remember. Just like you always do.”
I wriggle to free my hands and he either takes the hint or decides he needs both of his for the next item on the agenda. I make the most of sudden freedom and tug at his crisp white shirt, eager to get flesh-on-flesh, be together as one.
He slips his hands onto my thighs and rucks up the smooth material of my skirt. Bunching it over my hips like a thick belt. The cool air-conditioning hits the top of my stockinged legs and I wonder why I even bothered with panties this morning. They’re hindering access, why didn’t I think of that essential detail? I’m usually so organised.
I’m having little luck removing his shirt so I turn my attention to his belt buckle. It’s a solid silver square that is manageable for my fumbling fingers. I undo it with ease and it slides free. I look up at his face, flick loose the button of his trousers and begin to drop the zip.
He pauses in his desperate attempts to shove down my panties and stares at me. The flecks in his eyes sparkle like gold nuggets glistening at the bottom of a stream. In the luxury of our paused second I can’t help a naughty girl smirk, just to let him know exactly what I�
�m going to do next.
He raises one eyebrow.
Have I really got the nerve? Here and now?
Oh yes!
I sink downwards with my back against the door and flex my knees until my head is level with his groin. Only then do I finish undoing his fly.
Impatiently, like it’s suddenly the best proposal in the world, he shoves down his trousers and boxers and releases his bulging erection an inch from my mouth.
I don’t mess about. We haven’t got time for preliminaries, this is just a quick nod in the direction of foreplay. I go straight for the kill and suck the glorious heat of him deep into my eager throat. His guttural groan of pleasure rumbles above my head and I hear him bang his hands against the door for support.
I’ve had some elegant dinners in my time but this is all I ever really wanted. John. John in my mouth, the taste of him is exquisite, exotic, erotic, musky and manly. Every flavour I ever wanted all wrapped up in one delirious tastebud experience. I flatten my tongue against his thick head and delight in its silken smoothness. Using one hand to slide moisture along the shaft and the other to gently cup his cool balls I work him hard and fast.
His knees buckle and his breaths sharpen. I sense his growing eagerness to come.
But not like this, I want him inside me. I push his hips away and force my legs to stretch from their flexed position.
“You just get better and better at that,” he says with a hard, tight swallow. His eyes are hooded and he looks drugged on lust.
“Glad you appreciate it.” I’m squirming with my own need for satisfaction and finally manage to push down my knickers. They land over my sensible patent blue heels but I only bother to kick out of one leg hole and leave them abandoned around my other ankle.
His wandering hands run into the hollow of my back and ripple over the dense ruck of my skirt. He splays his fingers over my bare buttocks and swoops onto the backs of my thighs. Then, in one smooth movement, he bends his knees and hoists me into the air. My hips draw level with his and my face is the perfect height for kissing him again.
I wrap my legs around his waist, cross my feet in the dip of his back and cling to his shoulders for support. My heart pounds and my breath is hard to catch. His brute strength, his intense passion, it’s the biggest thrill of my life.
The door is in line with my spine and he holds my weight with ease. I feel him catch my bottom lip with his teeth. He nibbles a little too hard and I whimper. He kisses the sore spot with a murmur as the head of his thick penis prods at my waiting, willing entrance.
I’m open and vulnerable. He hasn’t the time to make a slow, gentle entry and I force myself to relax because I know he’s big, bigger than Clint. I urge my pelvic muscles to loosen. It’s been a long time.
But I have no chance to think because suddenly he’s in. One hard, sharp thrust and he’s pounded into my depths.
“Oh, Jeez…” I gasp as I clamp my eyes shut.
“You okay?” he grunts at the end of his long entry moan.
“Yeah… just… just don’t stop.”
He withdraws a fraction and then rides back in right up to the hilt. The head of his penis smooths past my G-spot, rubbing it wickedly. His pubis shoves up against my aching clit and draws it from its hidden folds of flesh.
He pulls nearly all the way out and I miss him desperately, but then he heaves back in with a groan and my clit bursts into a wildly sensitive bud of pleasure. My internal walls become a mass of swollen need, clenching and juicing for him.
Over and over he slams into me. Supporting me under my thighs and kissing any part of me he can reach—my face, my neck, my cleavage. The door rattles in its frame with our exuberant passion, but I don’t even consider the consequences if someone hears. My mind is lost to everything other than John making up for our twelve months apart.
I feel the first tug of orgasm. It’s building like a skyscraper. Brick-by-brick, layer-by-layer, I know it’s going to be enormous. It towers within me. I can sense his rising climax too. Each sharp breath he hisses out, every dipped clench of his muscled buttocks, every grunt vibrating through his chest tells me he’s getting close.
I drag my hands through his hair and pull at the remaining short curls at his nape. “John… John…” I don’t know what I want to add to my sentence, I just need to say his name while he’s so deep inside me. Moments like these are so rare they’re as precious as life itself.
“I’m going to…” He arches his neck to the ceiling and his teeth clench. The muscles around his mouth contort with a desperate need to control his own body. “Hurry up… Raine, I’m going to come… any sec…” He sucks the words through an inward breath and holds them, as if not daring to breathe out again.
His cock is a rod of solid steel, igniting every hot spot inside my body. The intensity of his entire weight blasting at my clit, belting at my G-spot, sends me over the edge of my precarious cliff and I grab for my orgasm. It’s not hard to catch, it’s hovering, playing, teasing me so I let it win with overpowering majority and take it for all it’s got. I erupt into a heavenly spasm of convulsions. A volcano of pure pleasure pounds through my veins and arteries. For that moment it overtakes every thought, memory, piece of knowledge I’ve ever had.
A primitive howl tries to escape my lips, but anticipating this usual wild animal reaction John clamps a firm hand over my open mouth. I try not to bite down on his palm but fail and feel soft, tender flesh squeeze between my teeth.
My attempt at howling turns to a squeak and he shifts his hand to brace harder against the door. “Oh, fuck… fucking hell…” he blurts out. “Fucking good… good… good, God.” His eyes screw up and his features twist in ecstasy as he too explodes. I feel him blasting out the powerful contractions of his almighty orgasm, shunting upwards, impaling me against the door. He holds me exactly where he wants me and goes on and on with his pleasure rollercoaster.
“Bloody hell…” he says, a final shudder snaking down his spine and his eyes blinking open to the harsh light of the room.
I match his shiver and feel boneless as he continues to hold me. “That was…” I struggle for the right words to describe our explosive reunion. “Amazing, Prime Minister.”
He grins and the dimples I adore sink deep. “Glad to be of service, Madam President.”
I would love to curl up in his embrace now. Slide down to the floor, pull up a cushion and a blanket. Have a light doze and then do it all over again in a lazy, meandering way. Indulge in some serious foreplay, him on me this time. But we can’t. We have to get back to reality. We have to get back to the sensible world of global politics to which we hold the keys.
He pulls out and supports me while I unhook my ankles and lower my legs. His hair is sticking up at the back and as he fiddles with his belt I smooth it flat, then grab a Kleenex and wipe away the semen seeping down my leg.
“Your present,” he says, pulling the egg by its tiny string from his jacket pocket. “A little extra persuasion for when we review that environmental policy.” He holds the egg to his lips, kisses it and then with long, skilled fingers slides it into my vagina. I spread my legs and wriggle as he pushes it deeper, so deep it becomes lodged and settles into position. It’s cold and rigid against my swollen, supersensitive flesh, but it feels soothing and reminds me of having him there. I like it, welcome it.
He pulls his moist fingers from me and then holds up a pink remote control. “This is going to be so much fun.” He winks and licks his lips. “Can I order more tea?”
“Sure.” I smile, excited at the thought of John holding the controls to my pleasure, plus his need for a cup of tea after sex has always amused me. It’s so very English of him.
“I’ll give you a second to straighten up.” He reaches for the lock on the door, slides it free then tucks the remote back into his inside jacket pocket. “See you in a minute.”
He slips out and I pull up my panties and tug down my skirt. My insides are still trembling. I can still feel him right th
ere doing his stuff and the egg is only enhancing that memory.
I turn to the mirror—damn I look wild.
My reflection shows a woman who’s been ravaged and savaged. A woman who’s just had flaming hot sex. My hair has been backcombed against the wooden panels of the door. My cheeks are a shiny apple-red and my neck blotchy pink from John’s chin bristles. My lips are puffy and swollen and the brightest shade of crimson imaginable, certainly not my usual, rather reserved colour.
But my eyes, it’s my eyes that catch my attention. It’s been a long time since I saw my alive, excited, woman-in-love look. It’s only ever there when John is around. I indulge in the sight of my own soul glowing from within. I know I must tidy up, but just for a second instead of being Madam President, I just want to be Raine—Raine who is head-over-heels in love and lust with John.
I zip through appearance reconstruction and head back into the Oval Office, clenching my vaginal muscles as my naughty present rolls with my sashay.
John is sitting on the couch wearing a sombre expression. “Did you order more tea?” I ask.
“There was a fresh pot on the table already.” His heavy gaze finds mine. “Someone must have been in whilst we were… you know.”
My heart does a giant flip of panic. Keep calm. It doesn’t matter, just one of the domestic staff. No harm done. They probably didn’t hear anything. They wouldn’t have even known it was us in the dressing room, probably thought it was workmen banging around or something.
I sit on the sofa opposite him and the egg tilts forward, pressing against my responsive front wall. I’m struggling to stay calm. I need damage limitation.
“Hey,” he says leaning forward so his elbows are angled on his knees. “I’m only joking, I’ve just ordered more tea from Hilda, it will be here in a minute.”
The black dots dancing before my eyes disappear and the nausea subsides. I grab a fat embroidered cushion. “You…” I say, hurling it at him with the skill of a professional baseball player. “Are not funny, Prime Minister.”