by Claire Adams
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 down 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 my
self, 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.”
“You like that? You like when I fuck you like this?” Xavier murmured in my ear from behind.
I brought myself up on my four limbs, allowing him to mount me, doggy style. All the while, I felt like I was going crazy as his dick dipped further and further into me, forcing my eyes closed. “Yes.” I felt an initial orgasm shudder through me. I fell onto the bed, blasting at my breasts and feeling as my pussy pulsed around his dick, feeling like the orgasm was going to be the end of my life, the end of everything. And that was okay.
After a few moments, I opened my eyes. I spun around, groggy eyed, still feeling the pleasure course through me. I brought my fingers up, toward his buttons, and began to forcefully remove his taut, muscled body from his presidential gear. “Get naked for me, Mr. President,” I whispered in his ear. I placed my hand on his cock, stroking it, making it hard once more. “Come on, Mr. President.”
He helped me remove his clothes hurriedly, dropping his pants to the ground. I was beneath him, then. I placed my hands over his taut chest, feeling his heart beating so fast. I shook my head, allowing my eyes to falter as he thrust his dick back into me once more. “God. You feel so good,” I murmured.
He brought his mouth around my nipples, thrusting, holding my body close to his. It felt like, there on the Lincoln bed, we were one person, one organism. We were united. His eyes dipped into mine; the eye contact was almost too much for me to bear. I felt like I could see into his soul.
Suddenly, he ripped me from the bed, holding me tightly against him so that our bodies didn’t come apart. He pushed me against the wall and began thrusting himself into me, so powerfully, so strongly, that we couldn’t separate. Not even for a moment. I allowed my nail to dip into his back; I allowed my voice to call out over the room. “Yeah. Fuck me harder,” I called to him. “Harder!”
His eyes peered up at me, so lost and yet so sure. “Baby. I’m ready to cum. I’m going to cum.”
I placed my hands on either side of his face, feeling the dark, clustered hair on his cheeks. “Cum for me, baby. It’s just us, now. It’s just us.”
He closed his eyes, then, as he held me poised, up against the wall. I felt as his dick pulsed into me; I felt as the pulsing penetration of his cock pushed my body into another orgasm. I closed my eyes, feeling my brain grow crazy as I rode the amazing waves rollicking in my stomach, through my eyes. I gasped, clutching his neck so tightly. After many lost, rolling moments, we were finished, together.
Xavier brought me back to the bed. He tucked me into the covers. I watched his careful movements through my half-open, fatigued eyes. He tucked his body in beside mine, and he brought his arm around my neck, allowing me to come closer to his naked, steaming body. Our legs were entwined.
“That was beautiful,” I whispered, my eyes gleaming up toward him.
Xavier nodded, kissing my forehead. I could tell he was about to fall asleep, that I was losing him. I had to act fast. I had to tell him my last piece, rather than allowing it to die at our feet, never to be spoken of (and resulting in problems down the line.)
“Baby,” I began. He turned toward me, his face open to whatever I had to say. “I just wanted to tell you that I love you. I want this relationship to bloom, to grow.”
Xavier nodded, kissing my cheek. “Me, too.”
My mind tried to calculate what I should say next. I cleared my throat. “If this is going to grow appropriately, then we need to work out a schedule. We need to care for this relationship, like people care for animals, for plants, for jobs. We need to treat this relationship appropriately. Otherwise, it could falter.”
Xavier frowned. He leaned up on his elbow, gazing toward me. “You don’t actually think it will falter, do you?” He breathed.
“I don’t even want to give it a chance,” I answered, considering his question. “I want it to be beautiful, to last a long time. And I don’t think that means we can continue to sneak in and out of White House passageways. I don’t think we can continue having meetings that involve—both sexual elements of our relationship as well as what some campaign donator is doing in California.” I sighed, trying to rally my thoughts. “I just think we need better communication, better organization. Otherwise, I’ll go crazy.”
Xavier nodded, considering my words. “I understand. And I agree. I think we need to give this time to sort itself out, time to develop a plan organically. But we can agree to no more relationship things during work hours?”
I nodded, my eyes brimming. “That’s a start,” I whispered. I smiled at him.
“Although, you can’t blame me if I occasionally set a wayward meeting, just so I can talk to you. Just so I can be next to you. Days are long, Amanda,” Xavier said, laughing.
“I know. I know,” I murmured. I kissed him once more. “But that goes the other way, as well. No work talk during relationship time.” My eyes were large, serious.
Xavier held his hands up to me, nodding supremely. “Of course. Of course.”
We took a moment to laugh with each other. What a silly thing we had to do—plan our relationship around our all-too-serious running of the greater American people. But it was what we had to do in order to survive, to live with greater sanity. I brought my hand up toward Xavier’s ear and played with it lightly, feeling its delicate hairs.
Xavier’s eyes had grown serious, as well. “Baby, listen to me.”
“Hmm?”
“I want to tell you how happy I am. I can’t remember a time in which I felt happier. I have you in my life, and I am incredibly grateful for that. I wish—I wish I could help you understand. You’ve changed my life for the better in nearly every single way.”
My heart leaped as he said the words. In many ways, I felt the same. Suddenly, he wrapped his naked arms around me, bringing my body close to his. We kissed with such passion, such drive. I felt my body prepare for him once more. We descended into a night filled with lovemaking, with champagne, with good conversation.
In many ways, this was the first night on the road to the rest of our lives.
EPILOGUE: 5 YEARS LATER
I sat in the back of the taxi as it coursed across town, my suitcases filled beside me. I cleared my throat, directing the taxi driver, who had made a wrong turn a few roads back.
“I am so sorry, Miss,” he declared, gesturing with his hands.
But I laughed evenly. “It’s okay. I usually get lost on my way out here. Don’t worry about it for a moment.”
He pulled up outside of the grand house. Brick, old, with this sort of other-century charm. I smiled at it, bringing my fingers to the glass. Home.
The taxi driver stood outside, helping me gather my suitcases, my boxes.
“You don’t have much stuff,” he said, shrugging. “You are moving here?”
I nodded, bringing my hair around my ear. “This is when I can start accumulating stuff, I suppose,” I said, laughing.
“All right, Congresswoman,” the taxi driver said. “I suppose you know best, no?”
I laughed, reaching into my purse. I paid the man double, thanking him for his assistance with my bags. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
I turned toward the grand home before me, breathing evenly. I couldn’t believe the day had finally arrived.
He appeared on the front steps, then. He was clad in jeans, a sexy V-neck t-shirt. He looked so casual, so primal before me. I hadn’t seen him without a suit in what seemed like years.
Outside of the bedroom, of course.
He brought his hands around my neck and kissed me, there, in front of the house. He sighed, his eyes large. “The wait is over, Amanda,” he w
hispered. “It’s finally over.”
I smiled, knowing how grateful I was. The past five years had been a struggle.
Xavier began helping me with my bags, bringing them up into the house we would now share together: the house he and his wife, Camille, had purchased nearly fifteen years before. “She never liked it anyway,” Xavier had declared months ago, when he’d proposed this final addition to our plan. “I don’t think she’ll miss the place.”
But already, the brick mansion was stealing my heart. The interior was well-lit, with this remarkable, stone fireplace in the center. Because it was winter, a fire was brimming in the fireplace, such a greeting after the winter chill had escalated throughout my body. I rubbed my hands next to it as Xavier brought in the last of the bags. He set them by the winding staircase and tapped the couch beside him as he collapsed.
I sat next to him, gazing at the fire. It felt so good to be natural beside him, without feeling that everything was about to fall apart—as it had, several times throughout the previous five years. The press had nearly gotten wind of it a few times, especially during the election season. They were continually asking us questions about each other, trying to get us to slip up. But we never did. We were professionals.
Of course, after Xavier won the election, I had to move forward with my career. He understood, and he supported me—without helping me, which had been essential for my procedure. I outlined the reasons why I was essential to Congress, how I had helped the president through every element of his campaign trail. And I’d been voted in—incredibly—as a thirty-one-year-old woman, still a bit bright-eyed, with big, brimming ideas. I’d made great strides since my arrival.
Being at Congress meant that I still saw the president during the day. However, it had never been enough. We would pass each other, our eyes locked forward, still feeling the heat from each other’s bodies. It nearly drove me crazy some days. But most days, I understood: this was our agreement with Camille, his wife. We weren’t to ruin her First Ladyship. This was her only asking.