by Andy King
We pull up in front of the White House. She’s asked Carmel to make sure there’s no fanfare, but thousands of people are gathered in the square across the street. About a hundred White House staff are crammed into the lobby. A raucous round of cheering and applause breaks out when we walk in. Cheri stops, waiting for the noise to let up.
“Thank you, it’s good to be home,” she says simply.
An older, Hispanic man—I think he’s a gardener—steps forward and shakes her hand. One of the agents accompanying us moves to get between them, but she waves him off. A young black woman raises her hands. Cheri gives her ten. People press in, just wanting to touch her, to reassure themselves that the nightmare is over. She spends fifteen minutes, greeting many by name and thanking them for standing by her.
I’m happy for her, but my heart is in my shoes. After all of that, there’s no way we can be together. It will take her a year to recover from this, politically. She’ll be busy every second of every day. More to the point, she’s the President and I’m a Secret Service agent. While watching her command the battle for control of the country, dominating generals and security executives, it was right in my face. She’s so far out of my league it’s a joke for me to think of being with her.
Leave it to Cheri Barnes to shock me. Taking my hand, she leads us down the hall.
She turns around, facing the small group, the few of us who were on the plane and several Secret Service agents. “I can’t thank you enough.” She looks each person in the eye. It seems like she’s holding back tears. “I’ll talk to each of you in person during the next couple days. Anna and Angeline, thank you. Carmel, Jack and I are going to the Situation Room, two agents only with us.”
I wave to Anna, then walk with Cheri and Carmel.
“You need to get some rest,” Carmel says.
“I need to make sure we’re on track. Then I’ll rest.” She squeezes my hand, looks up and smiles at me.
I’m overjoyed; my heart rockets to the heavens. She’ll sleep the sleep of the just if I have anything to say about it.
Cheri’s on the phone for a couple of hours in the Woodshed, talking to all of the people she talked to on Air Force One and more. She stonewalls the media. It’s obvious that she doesn’t care about her image, but she cares deeply about the welfare of the country.
Once she’s sure that it will be several hours until any meaningful action in the Pacific can take place, she turns her chair around and looks at me. “Ready?”
She looks worn out, as if she feels she’s aged a year in the last day. To me she looks gorgeous, the prettiest woman in the world.
I’ve been standing behind her, to one side. I step forward and offer my hand. She stands with a sigh, then turns back to the analysts and aides carrying on with details and documentation.
“I’ve got to get some sleep or I’ll be useless. Thank you for everything.”
In the Presidential sitting room I lean in, my voice soft to try to keep the trailing agent from overhearing. “You need a nap. I’ll go to a ready room and meet you in a few hours.”
She tips up an eyebrow, the only possible interpretation of her smile evil. “The hell with that. You have no idea how badly I want to get laid.”
Tugging my hand, she grins and throws open the bedroom door. “Get in here mister—that’s an order!”
As if I need to be told twice. I scoop her into my arms, slam the door with my heel and toss her on the bed. We kiss and breathe hot, struggling to get rid of each other’s clothes.
She pulls down my tie, unbuttons half my shirt, then rips the last half open. I reach under her T-shirt and unhook her bra, tossing it away. I want to slow this down and really rock her world. She reaches for me, but I push her hand away and kneel, pulling her hips close to the edge of the bed.
“Me first,” I say hoarsely. I’m going to treat my princess right. She’s earned it.
Gently I hook a finger inside her bikini bottom, not sliding it down, just playing my nail over her soft skin. Her mewl is breathy, her fingertips find my hair. I put my lips to the cotton, tasting her salty-sweet dew.
My fingers sweep up to her breasts, gently caressing. I pant heat on her. Whimpering again, a little louder now, she’s trying to play along, take it slow and draw out the rapture. But her ankles pull on the back of my neck.
I pinch one of her nipples. She quivers. I roll my tongue around. She shudders, losing the battle of self-restraint.
So I slide her underwear off. She struggles out of her T-shirt, and I gaze over her small, firmly-packed body. It’s a work of art in my eyes, and I wish I could just admire her perfection for a day.
She inhales deeply. “Jack, I need you in me.”
“Soon.”
Before she can protest, I start with my tongue, first slowly, then picking up speed, while my hands dance across her chest, stroking and cupping, flicking and lightly pinching. Her back arches, she’s almost there. So I speed up. She shivers, her thighs wriggling against my ears.
I stop for a second. “That OK?”
Her hum is deep and low, her legs shaking like a small earth tremor. I start again.
“Oh, God,” she wails. Her hips buck up and down. I keep going, now driven. I’m just getting started and I want her to climax several times.
My demon tongue goes faster and faster. Her fingers pull me in, her thighs grip my ears, and she jolts again, pressing her butt into the mattress.
“Jack! I need you!” She pulls my hair, trying to get me to come to her. A further seismic shock takes her. “Goddamn it!” she yells.
Call me sadistic, but I haven’t finished yet. I let her pulse come down for half a minute, then start with a finger.
“Oh, man,” she says. “Are you going to give me what I want, or am I going to have to make it an order?”
I don’t answer, just add another finger and lay my tongue on her, quivering. She sighs. I build the rhythm from slow to fast over a couple of minutes. The way her legs shake tells me she’s on the verge again. She starts to giggle. Perfect.
Fingers stroking and tongue dancing, I get her to explode. To my surprise, she has another orgasm right on top of that. I pull away and stroke the insides of her thighs. She has a couple of orgasmic aftershocks. So far, so good.
“Now, please?” she groans.
Princess, your wish is my command. I stand up.
Making sure she’s watching, I slowly slide my briefs down with a couple of hip bumps, the stripper dance she liked before. Her eyes are pinned on me. I gaze into them. It gets me so hot I can’t wait. I lower myself to her. We kiss, slowly at first, then with greater passion, our need burning.
She pulls her lips away. “I can’t wait any longer, soldier.”
I take that as an order from my Commander-in-Chief. “Yes, sir.”
“Please take me hard,” she whispers.
“Gladly. Sir.”
She playfully slaps my arm. I push in. She wriggles, and her hips start to dance. We know each other now; our moves are synchronized, the telepathy of lovers.
I’m going to take Cheri at her word. She wants hard, she’s going to get it. My body’s like a diesel engine, slowly gathering speed. She grunts as she takes my full force, and grips me so firmly it’s all I can do to keep going. I’ve got to draw it out, not burst into flames. I want her to fire again before I do.
I adjust myself so I’m on her trigger. She’s sweating and pulling with her heels, tears streaming out of the corners of her eyes into her hair. I feel myself get fuller—it won’t be long now. Jaw set, she clamps down. I breathe a low hum, a hand cupping her butt, the other one in her hair, sweetly stroking. I love this woman and I want her to have my children. I need to make that dream come true.
“Yes, I will,” she gasps.
“Will what?”
“Have your babies. Aahhhh!” Her hips jolt up and down. She squeezes me tight.
I can’t hold back. My eruption is magnificent. “Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh my God!” I yell, my abs
cramping.
Our orgasms blur together in pure sexual love. Stars, moons, galaxies of lights fly around in my vision, and melodies, harmonies and rhythmic explosions fill my ears. I’m windsurfing, racing over billowy whitecaps, then lifted off the bed, piloting a hang glider far into space, watching us from above.
Suddenly I’m back, Cheri’s lips to my ear, her breath like the Simoom wind ruffling across the Arabian Desert. I lick her neck; she shivers with delight. Our hips have stopped their cadence. We lie still, our hearts beating in sync.
“I think we did,” she whispers.
“Make a baby?”
“If we didn’t, we never will.”
My nose in her hair, I hold her tightly, loving her so much. It will be a long road with a lot of bumps. I don’t even want to think about the media or the political firestorms to come. I just love her, and that’s all that matters.
24
Cheri
When I’m done in the Situation Room, walking back to my quarters with Jack and another agent, Jack offers to let me rest. I probably should, but it’s the last thing on my mind. Call me twisted, but the entire episode with breaking the coup made me feel powerful. Not in a grandiose, political way—it got me hot.
I give him an order to get into my bedroom. It’s a joke, and at the same time, not. I want Jack and I want him now.
He throws me on the bed. That’s better. We strip each other down in haste. I reach for him, but he’s such a tease. He kneels and starts to torture me. All right, as long as he gets in me soon. He has no intention of giving me what I want, though.
His hands are everywhere. I cover them with my own, and try to accept that he’s going to take his sweet time and do it his way. Well, OK. I grin. Nothing to do but enjoy the ride. He’s lit a bonfire. Let it flame to the heavens.
I get rid of the sweat-stained T-shirt I’ve been living in all day. I’m going to be doing a lot more sweating, I can tell. Again my need is overpowering.
I plead with him to get inside me. He responds by speeding up while he caresses my breasts like he owns them. It makes me smile. Jack owning me is a turn-on, too. He asks me if I’m OK. Yes, don’t stop, oh God I’m going to burst.
A current of electricity slices through me, tearing out my spine and flattening it. He keeps going, the sadist. But he’s my sweet sadist and I’ll be his submissive all he wants in this room. I grip his head with my thighs.
Suddenly my back bows in a rigid curve. I explode again, calling out for him to climb on top of me and give me what I want. But he keeps holding me down and tormenting me. I can’t help it and pull his hair. He just continues. There’s nothing I can do but revel in pleasure.
Oh. My. God. Another orgasm slams through me. I shriek with passion. I’m having a sex seizure, and still Jack keeps going.
Finally he pauses for a minute. I hope he’s done, but he starts again, finger and tongue tickling. I can’t help but laugh. He’s going to empty me out and drain me. He’d better fill me with Jack or I’m going have him fired, so help me.
Son of a bitch—he makes me climax again, and just as my explosion starts to subside, it happens once more. Orgasm after orgasm storms through me. I’m a useless puddle of jelly.
I can’t fight it and don’t try. I’m down to begging. “Please?”
He stands up. Oh, goody.
The master magician does a striptease. As if I need any stimulation. Eyes gleaming, he looks me over. I shudder, turned on no end, and stare, pleading without words, long past the point of pride.
He finally lies down on top of me. I tell him I can’t wait anymore. He makes a joke, so I slap his arm. He slides into my groove.
Thank. God. Let’s get going.
I start to say thanks but get cut off when he pushes hard. My hips dance and my butt squirms. He grinds like a locomotive, starting slow, building up speed as each minute passes. Oh yeah, that’s what I’ve been waiting for.
My body’s drenched in sweat, fluid leaking out every pore. Electricity fires from my tailbone all the way to my fingertips as Jack drives me like a racecar.
Suddenly I’m overcome. The moisture in my eyes before was sweat mixed with tears of relief, but now I’m crying for real. It’s all too beautiful. I tell him yes, I want to have his children.
He erupts. The force drives me back. Fire shoots inside me. I pull with hands and ankles. He grabs my butt and holds us together as tightly as he can. Explosions flash in my eyes like a silent movie of a battlefield, our moans the soundtrack.
It seems to go on for hours.
A curtain of fog lifts. I’m lying with Jack, not holding him so ferociously anymore, trying to catch my breath. He licks my neck. I smile all the way to my toes, I’m so happy. A secret childhood dream has come true.
I tell him that I think we’ve conceived. Screw the cynics and critics who want to chop me into pieces and roast me over the flames of politics. My life is complete.
_______
The next day at noon I huddle with Carmel in my office, trying to get a handle on the big-picture plan to heal the country. I’ll meet with all important members of Congress, Black and White first on the list, then reshuffle the Cabinet to replace the jailed conspirators.
Before MacElvain was imprisoned, I forced him to fly all night on a cargo jet and had him hauled in front me. I had to ask.
“Why did you do it, Mac?”
He bared his teeth in hatred. “You don’t deserve to be President. You flaunted yourself and worked them like a whore.”
“But Mac, I was Vice-President, that’s how it works.” I bit my tongue and didn’t say that I damned well earned the job, losing my husband and Stu to the forces of fear.
Mac sputtered, red-faced. “You counseled with that fool McCracken, and my God, Jefferson. I can’t believe you didn’t come to me. I was the best one for you. I would have treated you right.”
Suddenly I understood. In his twisted mind he wanted me. Like the plantation master’s clandestine visits to the female slave’s quarters, the rape and mixed blood babies that followed, Mac craved power over me. He craved the power he imagined “his people” had lost long ago.
There was no point in talking to a wall. I watched them take him away, and thought long and hard about his fate. Which is worse—death for treason, or having to live the rest of his life in prison, his delusions poisoning his brain while he rails against the injustice of it all?
I can only offer my opinion to the court, and I’ve got time to figure that out.
BeeBee Walsh will go after the assholes like a piranha, the capstone to her career. She loves me like a granddaughter. I shudder to think what she would ask for by way of punishment were she not bound by law. Torture would be kind. My sigh is deep.
Soon I’ll meet with heads of state from all major countries. Becky Logsdon, Li of China, Gorodinsky of Russia, it’s a long list. I’ll be doing some traveling, but I hope to entice some of them to visit me. In a few months, the cherry blossoms will be a major draw.
“First, North Korea,” Carmel says. “You really think Li will follow through?”
“It appears that President Li has some incentive. I could tell in our phone call that he knew I wasn’t bluffing. I think he’s a convert, now he’s seen me put down a revolution.”
“He’s pragmatic.”
“He’s a businessman, I can reason with him. I don’t trust him, but we can do business. He said he’ll let us keep ships in the Yellow Sea for now. I don’t need his approval and he knows it. As long as we keep our guns pointed away from China and don’t get spooked by their air shows, I’m not worried. I think we have a temporary deal with Li.”
“I was asking whether he’ll follow through on starving them out.”
“I’m pretty sure he will. We’ll give him more trade than the NKs ever could.”
“You’ve got the State of the Union coming up.”
Crap, I’d forgotten. It’s in a week. “Get the writers working on it. I’d like a stark, no-nonsense
approach. The country needs to heal, but I’ve got to tell the truth.”
The truth is that bigotry and prejudice are alive and well. Fear was at the heart of the coup attempt, and probably twenty-five percent or more of the country hates me. Maybe they don’t hate me as a person, but they hate my skin color and gender, even if they’ll never admit it. I’ve got to figure out a way to make them take their bitter pill, while at the same time letting them know that I care about them. We’ll be going through many drafts of that speech.
Carmel has a knack for changing the subject from bad to worse. “What about McCracken?”
“There’s no indication he was in on it.” I look around out of habit and lean toward her. “Josh, Lenny and the FBI interim chief are running his calls, texts and emails through the wringer. They’re going to examine every second of his life, and run a scope all the way up his rectum.” I sit back and nod decisively.
Carmel smirks, then goes serious. “You can’t fire him, though.”
“If I decide not to keep him around, I can make life miserable for him while I drum up the necessary votes in Congress. I’m not worried about Bill McCracken. Besides, I did him a favor and got his wife off his back.”
“He’s more afraid of her than he is of you.” Carmel looks at her pad. “All right, about CIA.”
We wind through the afternoon, prioritizing and putting things in order. A few times she has to pull me back into the conversation.
After dark has fallen and we’re almost done, she says, “I swear, Cherilyn. The last time you had that dreamy look in your eyes was over twenty years ago. You gonna marry that boy?”
I gaze at her, a wide grin plastered on my face. “Yeah, I am. And you don’t have to worry about that doctor appointment.”
“Whew, that’s load off. Gonna get your tubes tied?”
“Heck, no. We’re making babies ‘til I can’t anymore. Probably got one started already.”
I wish I had a camera to capture the look on her face. It’s pretty hard to shock my best friend, but I nailed her good.
“Mother of God. A White House wedding? Babies, plural? You trying to kill me?” Playing the drama for all it’s worth, as usual.