by Claire Adams
He nodded disdainfully toward me, his eyes still searching beyond me. He wouldn’t be friendly toward me again, I knew.
I entered the room. It was small, brought together with floral, blue wallpaper. Several gold mirrors glittered around the room, reflecting my fine, feathery brunette hair and my small waist. I twirled in the mirror as Dimitri shut the door behind him, leaving me in peace.
The table had already been set. A large, golden slow cooker was sitting in the center, closed and sealing the heat for our fantastic meal. I eased toward it and opened it, finding myself braced with the elaborate smell of spiced and herbed chicken, potatoes, Brussels sprouts. I closed it quickly and felt my stomach rattling. So empty.
I twirled once more, feeling the anxiety filter away from me. It was like I could suddenly pretend like the previous few weeks of anger, of sadness had never happened. In my reverie of lost thought, I couldn’t hear anything; I held my eyes closed. I was alone in my little world.
Suddenly, I felt his hands at my waist. I stopped short and leaned into his warm body, feeling the fineness of his suit between my fingers. I kept my eyes closed as he brought his hands more tightly around my waist, wrapping me into an embrace.
“You’re a beautiful dancer,” he breathed into my ear, making me feel so sensual. My brain dove into sexual thought immediately. I imagined myself overtop of him, humping him. Making his eyes close with passion.
“Thank you,” I breathed instead, rearing my face up toward his. We hadn’t had our talk yet, I reminded myself. I took a step back, shaking my head and trying to root myself back in reality. “This looks like a fine meal. The location is a bit—“
But Xavier just waved his hand. “It’s fine. Please. Sit down.” He gestured, and I sat across from him, placing the napkin over my lap. The tension between us hadn’t dissipated. I wanted to calm myself down, to find the proper words to say.
“Would you like some wine?” he asked. He reached toward the bottle and poured it for both he and I. I listened to the glug glug glug of the liquid as it escalated into the glass.
We clinked our glasses together, our eyes meeting across the table. I was trying to quell my sexual appetite. I turned my eyes back toward the chicken. “So. We meet again,” I said, my voice a bit jocular.
“So we do,” he murmured. His eyes were fueled with a sense of knowledge. “How is your first real day back?”
I nodded. “It’s good. I hired a few girls back. Girls I unjustly fired last week.”
Xavier nodded, not faltering. “Good. It’s good to stick with our own. We’re a team, after all.”
I blinked toward him, knowing that he was speaking about me.
“And what about Jason?” he asked then. “Has he given you any grief?”
I nodded briefly. “He’s always lurking around the corner, ready to do anything, to say anything to me to make me feel this small.” I held an air’s inch between my thumb and forefinger. “But I’m growing used to it.”
“We still need to do something about it,” Xavier murmured.
I nodded. “That we do.” A pause hung between us. I ripped at the chicken and brought the warm meat to my mouth, chewing. So glad to have something to do with my hands, my mouth.
Finally, I spoke. “We have a great deal to discuss about us, as well.” Our eyes met in this moment, and I felt that drive once more. My throat caught. I wanted to kiss him, to laugh with him. Why were we struggling like this?
Xavier placed his fork on his plate, upside down. He brought his fingers together and laced them. He peered at me closely. “What do you suppose we do?”
I shrugged my shoulders lightly. “Anything we want, I suppose.”
Xavier’s voice came in husky syllables. “You know I love you, don’t you?” he asked.
I nodded, biting my lip. “I do. I do know.” I peered down at my plate. “I think I love you, too.”
“I fucked up. You know I fucked up. I just—“
I held up my hand. “You were under so much pressure. And I came at you with too much. I won’t—I won’t do it again.”
“You better not,” he said, his eyes glinting with humor. His eyes gestured toward the floor beside us, where I’d been dancing only a few moments before. “You want to dance again? With a partner?”
My eyebrows rose high on my forehead. “I’m not sure. Does our chemistry really go that strong?”
He leaned toward me, his fingers brushing against mine on the table. “I think we have something here, Amanda. Something physical, something chemical. Something that was surely meant to be.”
I felt my heart beating faster, harder in my chest. I stood suddenly and found myself face to face with him in the center of the floor. The plates still steamed with food, but I had forgotten my hunger. I brought my hand through his; I felt his hand at my back. We began to dance to no music, to complete silence. He twirled me, his eyes continually on mine. I felt the heat of his body; I felt the sexual need from him—his need for me.
“I think about you constantly,” he murmured. “Your body. Your mind. Everything about you.”
I didn’t dare turn away from him, to reduce my eye contact. This was our time together—our long-lost moment. I didn’t even have the words for him. I came closer to him and propped my breasts on his chest, closing my eyes.
Suddenly, he twirled me into the sidewall, between two mirrors. In the yonder mirror, I could see myself, the back of Xavier’s head. He moved his hand around to unzip my dress and drag it down my body, toward the ground. In the mirror, I could see his mouth form around my nipple. I could see my hand mold over his head, guiding him, needing him. I closed my eyes as he removed my tights, tossing them to the ground. For a moment, I remembered that we needed to get to a meeting in just ten minutes—that they’d be expecting us: the president and the campaign manager. But as he descended his tongue over my hot pussy; as he placed his fingers at my G-spot; as I felt my body give way to feeling, I couldn’t care about that fucking meeting. Not for a single moment.
I brought my fingers toward his buttons and undid them in a mad rip, bringing the shirt back behind his shoulders. His chest gleamed with sweat, with desire. As he continued rubbing at my clit, making me go crazy, I moved his pants and boxers from his waist and found my hand around his pulsing cock. I started giving him a hand job, feeling the pulsing blood, the desire, the need behind it. It was so hard in my hand, and I wanted it inside me, ramming into that G-spot he always hit so well, taking me to my climax.
He wrapped his lips around mine, bringing his hand around my ass and cupping it safely. I felt like a part of him, like he was molding my body into his. I caught my legs around his waist and pushed his dick into my pussy, becoming one with him. He shoved himself—hard—into me, and I felt the wall of mirrors around me shake. I watched in the mirror as he fucked me, pound-pound-pound, into the wall. With each thrust, I could see his ass clench; I could see my eyes fill with pleasure. I called into the room, not even caring about being quiet. After all: this moment was safe from all the others. I had lost any comprehension about why we shouldn’t be together.
“Yeah, baby,” Xavier began. “I love you. I love your body, your mind. I love your ass.” He slapped it, then, sending vibes of pleasure through my spine, through my pussy. I called into the room, bringing my foot up as he fucked me. As he thrust further, deeper, I found that I lost control. My foot erupted too close to one of the table’s plates, and the chicken fell to the floor. The plate crashed into a thousand small pieces. I screamed lightly, and Xavier placed his hand over my mouth, making me be quiet. Feeling taken advantage of, feeling like he had control over me, made the pleasure more tactile, more real. I cried out, feeling tears fall from my eyes.
“Fuck me. Fuck me harder,” I murmured, shaking and allowing my breasts to bounce—boom, boom, boom, against his chest. He caught one of them in his mouth and brought his tongue over the hard, revving nipple.
Suddenly, Xavier spun me around. “Touch your toes,” h
e murmured into my ear. His breath was so hot. I leaned down and touched them, and then, all at once, I felt him enter my pussy from behind. He brought his fingers around my pussy. He caught my G-spot with his dick and revved into it, making my body fuel with pleasure. I wanted to start crying, to tell him that my body was his forever.
He whispered, then, that he was going to come—that he was moments away. “I love you, Amanda,” he whispered, a bit of desperation coursing through his words. “I love you. Know that.”
And suddenly, his thrust caught me into a wave of euphoria, of pleasure. I felt the orgasm course through my spine, through my breasts, and burn with such passion at my pussy. I heard him as he came, as well. The orgasm rattled through us both, making us seem like a single organism, a single monster of sexual drive and passion.
Finally, he pulled away from me. He turned me around and kissed me with such drive. Our naked bodies were dripping with sweat. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispered.
“I won’t,” I murmured back. He brought his hand to my chin and stroked it, shaking his head.
“I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”
I felt the same. But I knew, then, that we were already ten minutes late to the meeting. As usual, my mind dove back into practicalities. I shook my head and blinked into his eyes. “Baby. We have that meeting. Ten minutes ago.” I bit my lip and watched as his own face erupted into that realization. “Shit.”
He reached toward his clothes and started hurrying them on. I grabbed my tights and bounced into them. As they wrapped around my waist, leaving my breasts still bare, I heard someone at the door. Someone arguing. I froze and turned toward Xavier, my eyes wide. The fear was rattling through me. The voice was familiar. But the fear in Xavier’s face forced me to panic. He stood in his boxers, his chest still sweating. The smell of sex was in the air.
And then, the door opened. In the doorway, stood Camille, Xavier’s wife. She brought her slim hands to her thin waist and gazed at his, nearly raping my naked frame with her snake-like eyes. “Well, well, well,” she murmured. “What do we have here?”
POWER #5
Chapter 1
I stood, holding my hands over my nipples, gazing up at Camille, Xavier’s wife, with what was surely a gross, indecent expression. My hair was in a tizzy after fucking the president. I held my breath for several moments as Camille traced her eyes over us, folding her hands over her stomach; she looked less like a wife catching her husband cheating and more like a grandmother catching her grandchild with a hand in the cookie jar.
Xavier stood beside me, a mere foot away, looking at this woman before him as if she were his equal. And I supposed, in many ways, she was. She’d helped him stride to this great position—most powerful man in the world. And look at what he was doing to her. I imagined the strain lurking behind her eyes; the sheer unhappiness.
The tense moment ended in an instant, however. She shrugged her shoulders and spun around, facing the wall. Her voice was stark in the room. “Get dressed. Both of you,” she ordered. Her blonde hair gleamed in the candlelight.
Unsure of what to do, I brought my bra around my tits, snapping it between my shoulder blades. I watched out of the corner of my eye as the president jumped into his own pants, tied his own tie. I zipped my dress and ruffled at my hair in the mirror, not realizing, for a moment, that I was shaking. God. We’d been caught.
Again.
Finally, Camille spun around once more. The expression on her face reminded me of a diplomat—someone working through a deal. She pressed her lips together firmly and tapped toward Xavier, bringing her fingers to his tie. “Darling. I can’t have you going into your campaign meeting looking like you just got through with a fuck fest. Or a fight.” She winked at him. Xavier didn’t say anything, and I felt my stomach dropping out beneath me.
I knew, then, that this was my moment; my moment to escape this room, to run away. I had to get to the campaign meeting. I cleared my throat, but neither the president, nor his wife looked toward me. “I better be getting to the campaign meeting—“ I nearly whispered, gazing at them both like a lost child.
But Camille interrupted my words, speaking only to Xavier. “Xavier. You can’t allow the girl to go. We have much to go over, after all.”
It was strange, how she addressed him, instead of me. I stopped short, knowing I didn’t have a choice. Xavier nodded toward me, his eyes like glass. So shiny and breakable.
Camille rubbed at Xavier’s shoulders, then, after adjusting his tie. “Well, well, Xavier. An affair. How completely classic.” She brought her shoulders up to her ears and seemed to giggle. The giggle was low, a bit disconcerting. Xavier said nothing. “You know. I don’t care about this, even for a moment.”
I raised my eyebrows toward her, feeling my heart beat so fast in my chest. I had been imagining my career ending; I’d been imagining having to move back in with my mother, all the way in lackluster Pennsylvania. I knew this woman before me could ruin me. And yet it seemed she didn’t want to?
Camille continued. “Yes. It’s a bit easier for me, you having an affair.” She adjusted her body on her high heels. “After all. It takes a great deal of effort to stay in love with you. You’re a trip, Xavier. I’m sure your young girl over there will agree.”
I swallowed, still unable to comprehend this. Why wouldn’t the first lady look toward me? I wanted to grab her, to spin her around. But she held the floor so expertly. I felt my tongue scratch against the back of my dry throat.
“I don’t love you as I think I should. I don’t think I have, not for a long time.” She flicked a piece of lint from Xavier’s chest, then. It seemed like such an intimate gesture, one I would have killed to have the privilege to do. But I wasn’t his wife; I wasn’t in those ever-tall shoes.
Xavier swallowed in the silence that followed her words. “I appreciate your openness,” he murmured. The tension continued, but it seemed that Camille didn’t feel a moment of it. “If you ever feel that you find—if you ever think that you could—“
But Camille turned, then. She addressed us both, primarily talking to Xavier, once more. Her words were stark, blasting through his. “Xavier. I’d ask that this—affair, however serious it may be—doesn’t affect my personal life or my life as First Lady. I appreciate this lifestyle. I’ve worked a great deal for it. God, all those meetings, all those brunches. And finally, we’re here. I’m here. And you shan’t ruin me while I remain here. Is that clear?”
Xavier nodded, closing his eyes. My heart sank. I nodded, as well, thinking only for a moment that I hoped he would lose the election.
“That will not be a problem, Camille,” Xavier stated, his voice incredibly presidential.
“And—“ Camille interrupted once more. “I’d like to further add that I don’t care about what you do. I don’t care about what both of you do—or what Xavier does in the future.” She eyed me, then, cat-like, dismissing me as a true suitor. “As long as you continue these affairs, Xavier, I will discredit the allegations. I will uphold my innocence and my happiness as First Wife and First Lady.” She cleared her throat once more. I couldn’t believe all that I was hearing. “But let me be clear, Xavier. Once more. You are not to ruin me.” She took a step forward and gazed into his eyes. In what seemed like a sharp, pointed moment, she brought her lips onto his. She kissed him without a hint of passion. Then, she reared back, tapping her heels on the ground and escalating herself back into the White House hallways.
“Thank you, Camille,” Xavier began. But his words were cut off by the crashing door. The golden, mirror-rimmed door left us alone in the room once more. Xavier blinked toward me, a strange look emanating from his face. He shook his head. And then, in a strange burst, he came toward me. He placed his fingers—so delicately—on my neck, on my chin. He kissed me with a zeal, with a passion that made me want to rip off his clothes once more. My breath came unevenly. It seemed that our future was wide open for us; it seemed that nothing stood in our way.
His eyes gazed into mine, and I nodded slowly, as if we were agreeing to something. I wasn’t sure what it was. But, in that moment, we both started laughing. I felt my heart rise up in my chest: it seemed that this moment of sheer, prime happiness would last forever.
Chapter 2
But suddenly, I brought my hands to his, still positioned at my fine, feminine jawline. “Baby,” I whispered. “God.” My voice came in forced laughter. “We have to go to the meeting.” These were the first mutterings I’d made since Camille had entered the room. The words came, so guttural.
We were already twenty-five minutes late for the meeting: the two most important people in its attendance. I scurried to the mirror one last time and tugged my fingers through my hair, trying to make myself look inconspicuous. Xavier brought his arms around my thin waist and kissed my neck. “Let’s bail on the meeting,” he whispered.
I giggled, my brain in a faraway place. “We can’t, Mr. President,” I murmured.
“And why not?” he asked.
My voice was hushed. I spun toward him, my eyes glinting. “Because we still have a single, big problem on our hands.”
Xavier bowed his head. “You mean Jason, don’t you?”
My heart stopped at the mere mention of his name. “I do.”
Xavier wrapped his arm around my waist and spun me back toward the door, almost gruffly. He didn’t answer my concern. Suddenly, we were bursting down the hallway, the secret service agents following us at an alarming pace. I knew that we were several hallways, several stairs away from the conference room. I tried my best, during this time, to calm my rushing brain. My eyes continually lifted toward Xavier. But his nose, his mouth arched in such a serious manner. He sniffed. He’d taken his arms from around my waist, and now he walked side by side, him a half stride ahead of me, keeping his eyes on the White House hallway horizon.
When we reached the conference room, Xavier brought his hands up toward the door. He turned toward me and whispered. “Stay outside for five minutes. I’ll warm them up. This way, it will seem that—“