by Layne Harper
Graham handles himself beautifully. He visits with the people that I introduce him to and listens to the mindless political dribble like a pro. Each time a new theory was tossed about, he nodded his head and made a generic reply like, “I can see that.” I was truly proud of the man that I brought as my date.
After dinner and the political speeches had wrapped up, they open the floor up to dancing. A big band takes the stage and begins playing an eclectic mix of oldies, classics, and a few contemporary songs.
Graham and I are visiting with Evan and his date, Skylar. She’s a stunning redhead. When I’m introduced to her, my first thought is that she really looks just like Jessica Rabbit, and wonder if the Sons Of Liberty have ever seen her. If so, I think they would change the First Lady’s nickname.
Skylar seems like she is a good match for Evan’s quick wit. Through our conversation, I discover that she’s an advertising executive, and that they were set up by mutual friends. Skylar yawns and strokes Evan’s knee. The very perceptive guy catches the signal, and they say their goodbyes. Before they leave, I tell Evan that on Monday we need to discuss some of the speculation as to who the Sons of Liberty are. His face lights up. He likes this mystery.
“Care to dance?” Graham asks as they walk away from our table.
Do I want to dance? Unlike my best friend, I have two left feet. My natural rhythm has been compared to that of a slug. But do I love to dance? Yes, in the privacy of my living room, with the curtains drawn and the front door locked.
“Only slow songs for me. I wouldn’t want to show you up with my dancing skills and all.” I flick a piece of ice at him and laugh.
As if the bandleader has our table bugged, the song “Wonderful Tonight” by Eric Clapton begins to play. This, I can dance to.
Graham rises to his full height of more than six feet and offers me his hand. I grasp it and allow him to help me out of my chair. We make our way to the dance floor. The eyes of my peers are locked on us. They’ve probably never seen me dance before. Yes! The Wicked Witch of the West can put on her red dancing shoes, just like the rest of you.
Graham seems to be oblivious to the extra attention that we’re getting. He pulls me tightly to him, and I rest my head against his chest as he artfully glides us across the floor. Fortunately, the band has chosen the long version of the song, so I have seven minutes to get lost in his strong arms, sure gait, and confident air. Expertly, he makes me look good as we waltz across the dance floor.
As the singer belts out the last lines of the song, I wish that I could put a quarter in the jukebox and play it again. We end our dance with a dip, and there’s a twinkle in Graham’s eye.
“Ready to leave?” His mischievous grin tells me that I should answer yes.
“Let’s go.”
We stop off at our table so I can collect my purse. I pull out my phone and text Lou, letting him know that we’re ready to leave. I didn’t wear a coat. It would have clashed with the dress so I don’t want to linger in the chilly night air too long.
Once we’ve exited the ballroom, Graham pulls me to him and whispers into my hair, “Back to your place?” His tone is suggestive, and I know exactly what he means.
Panic squeezes my heart. This is why I like hotel rooms. I’m embarrassed about how my home looks. Yes, last Sunday I was ready to let Graham inside, but I was caught in a fog of lustfulness. Now, I’m thinking properly. “What’s wrong with yours?”
He looks sheepish as I step out of his embrace. “Well, my friends are crashing at my place. I was kind of hoping that we could be alone tonight.”
“Then let’s get a hotel room. My treat.”
This is so damn awkward.
He reaches up and tucks a strand of my straight blond hair behind my ear, and tilts my chin up so I’m staring into his eyes. “It’s not about the money, Rach. I want to see where you sleep, and where you watch movies with me while we talk on the phone for hours on end. I don’t care if it’s messy. It’s where you live, and that means it’s where I want to be.”
As he’s talking, I chew on the inside of my lip. I look down at the carpet like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. If I want a relationship, I’m going to have to literally let him in. “Okay,” I sigh. “But you have to understand that the only other person that’s been inside my place is my housekeeper. I’m not much of a decorator, and I only sleep there, so it isn’t really a home.”
He pulls me against his chest and feathers kisses in my hair. “Thank you. Now, let’s go to your home.”
Chapter Seven
His hand is wrapped around mine as we sit quietly in the back of the black town car. The peacefulness of the ride is the polar opposite of what is going on in my head. It feels like tonight is the night. I haven’t had relationship sex, or anything that remotely feels like it since Aiden and I separated. All of the emotions swirling through me are daunting. But the biggest question that I am struggling with is, do I want to open myself up again to the possibility of another man that I fall deeply for who wants things from me that I can’t give?
“Whatcha thinking about?” Graham asks as he raises our locked hands and kisses my knuckles.
“Thoughts that I wouldn’t even share with a therapist,” I quip.
His chuckle is not a sincere one, and I cringe. “Don’t over-think this, Rachael. I like you. I like spending time, or should I say, talking on the phone with you. I’m not asking you to marry me.”
The word “marry” makes my heart speed up.
He unhooks our hands and turns my shoulders so I’m staring at his dear face as it passes in and out of the shadows from the street lamps overhead. “This next year is very important to you. Let’s just take this one day at a time, and see where it leads us.”
“One day at a time,” I repeat like a parrot.
“Yes, Rach. One day at a time.”
He leans down and plants a sweet kiss on the tip of my nose. That simple gesture, along with his words, help settle my rapidly beating heart. He wraps his arm around me and tucks me closer against him. This feels nice. I’m cocooned in Graham, and I feel protected, comforted, and cherished—all emotions that I’m not particularly familiar with.
He whispers into my hair, “We don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready. I’d be content with just holding you all night.”
A smile spreads across my cheeks, even though he can’t see it. I’ve been ready to fuck him since our first evening together, but am I ready to make love? That’s what scares me to death.
I don’t respond out loud. Instead, I nuzzle his chest with my cheek and place my hand on his upper thigh, feeling the sinew of his muscle under my palm.
He gives my hip a squeeze that reassures me that we’re on the same page. I close my eyes and relish this moment of contentment.
His warm minty breath tickles my ear. “We’re here.”
I open my eyes, shocked that I had drifted to sleep. I shake my head in disbelief, and dip my chin and smile at Graham. “Wow. I’m terrible company.” I sigh.
He opens the car door and slides out, offering me his hand. “Gave me a chance to watch you still. You’re very serene when you stop moving for two seconds.”
“Serene,” I repeat as I step out and clutch Graham’s hand. “I like that word. I don’t think I’ve ever been referred to as serene. Hell on wheels—yes. I hear that one frequently. Dragon Lady—that one’s been whispered behind my back. But, serene? No.” I shake my head. “I know for a fact you are the first person to ever call me serene.”
As Graham and I wait for Lou to sweep my house, he draws me to him so I’m pressed with my back to his front. “I like Lou,” he says.
I look up at him. His eyebrows are drawn together, and his lips are thin. “I like Lou also. He’s been assigned to me since I accepted the job. As you can imagine, the first woman to hold this title gets some interesting threats made against her.”
He pulls me tighter against him and gives my shoulders a protective squeeze
. No words are exchanged, but the message is loud and clear—Graham clearly cares about my personal safety.
Once Lou gives us the all clear, I reluctantly follow Graham inside. I drop my evening bag on the overstuffed, tired chair by the door. I watch him look around before finally turning to me. “What’s to be ashamed of?”
Poor guy is so perplexed. “Notice no pictures on the walls, the couch and this chair left by the previous renter.” I gesture toward the one holding my purse, then one on the other side of the room. “And this chair was from college.” Graham approaches me, and uses his thumb to extract my lip from between my teeth. “I had every intention of making this place my own, but I got busy and well, I guess I really don’t care, if I’m honest with myself.”
“It’s not like you’ve had a ton of free time to furniture shop. I. Don’t. Care,” he says pronouncing each word. “I care about you. I like you. Not your house, and certainly not your home furnishings.” His eyebrow rises and a half-smile says that he’s teasing me.
I melt, literally melt into him. This guy knows all the right words to say. Our lips and tongues begin a passionate dance. His reassuring arms around me tell me that he wants this as much as I do.
Before I can stop myself, my legs wrap around his waist, and his hands are firmly cupping my behind. This feels a bit like déjà vu. I pray that I’m not denied a third time.
His erection presses against my lace thong. What an erotic feeling it is. I grind my pelvis against his, picking up where we left off.
“You want this?” he asks in a deep voice that cracks a little at the end of his question.
“Yes,” I moan into his mouth.
We move upstairs as my hands rake through his hair, our lips never pausing. When we reach the top, I say, “Door to the left at the end of the hall.”
I don’t bother worrying about whether or not the sheets are clean on the bed, or if I brought down my water cup from last night. For the first time in a long time, I forget. I forget that I’m the White House Chief of Staff to the President of United States of America. I forget that in less than a year, I’m out of a job. I forget that I have to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. I’m just Rachael Early, desperately wanting to be with this man because I like him, and he likes me. There’s no agenda or social climbing. This feels like a real relationship, and damn, it is amazing.
He places me on my feet when we enter my room. I have no clue where my heels are, and I don’t care.
He stares at my dress as if it’s his mortal enemy.
I reach to the side and slide the zipper down.
“Ah … A hidden zipper, put there to confuse men.” He smirks as he pulls the dress over my head and unlatches my bra. A low, throaty moan escapes his lips as his eyes travel up and down my body.
I feel so exposed. I would normally wear a sexy piece of lingerie that hides the fact that my breasts never went through puberty. I’m on display. Vulnerable. Open. No man since Aiden has seen how flat my chest really is. Instantly, I want to grab for a blanket and cover myself. He must sense my panic because he grasps my hands in his. “You are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.” His eyes are hooded as they gaze upon me. I look down at the hard erection that is straining against his dress slacks. “You see that? That’s all because of you.”
I feel wanton and desirable. Two new emotions that I’ll add to the list.
Without a response, I launch myself at him. He catches me as I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his lips to mine. The sweetness in our passion is gone as the air becomes thick with lust. I want him to know how much his acceptance means to me.
He turns us around, and carefully lowers me onto my bed. I scramble to my knees, reaching up to remove his silver tie. It falls somewhere near my nightstand. I’m frenzied, wanting and needing this connection now.
He grabs my hands as I go for the buttons on his shirt. His eyes glow with amusement. “This isn’t a race, beautiful girl. We have all night.” He turns my palms over and gently kisses the underside of each wrist.
I nod, and unbutton his shirt with care.
He holds his hands up. “Cufflinks.”
They’re beautiful—silver and black onyx, with his initials engraved in them. GOJ. I don’t know much about men’s fashion, but these look expensive. I unfasten each one and place them with care by my bedside lamp.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks with humor in his voice as I toss his shirt on the floor.
I sit back on my heels and study his gorgeous chest and abdomen. Graham Jackson is a sexy man. He’s tall and lean, with a very athletic figure. His muscles are not bulky or exaggerated. They’re real, and they look like they serve a purpose. And dear God, my assumption about him was right. Not only could he model Ralph Lauren clothes, but he could also sport their swimming trunks and underwear lines.
Reaching towards his chest, I run my hand across his pecs and then over his abs. He’s a specimen of male perfection, and for the moment he is all mine. As I move to his belt, he drops his head back and a very soft moan escapes his lips when I undo the buckle.
“Now, for the best part.” I unbutton his pants and pull the zipper down. He helps me undress him by stepping out of his slacks.
I admire the smattering of dark chest hair, which leads to a thicker happy trail. It disappears into white boxer briefs.
He smirks. “I’m not a store. You can look and touch.”
I laugh at his stupid remark, but it makes my heart melt a little more. This feels so real. And damn, it’s nice.
I stand up on my bed so I’m just taller than he is. He pulls me to him and holds me, pressing my body tightly against his. In this moment, I’ve never felt more wanted or cherished, and I feel my eyes burn with extra moisture.
Why am I acting like a chick about to lose her virginity? I know the answer in my gut. It’s because this is the first time in my life that I believe that I might, I just might be able to have it all.
Knowing that I’m going to make an ass of myself if I don’t break this moment, I reach down and grasp his large erection through his underwear. It’s heavy and thick to my touch, and I rake my nails over the soft cotton, enjoying the groans of pleasure that fill my bedroom.
He takes my wrist, halting me from doing it again. His eyes are wide and pleading. “That’s too good. Too much. Let me.”
So begins his hungry assault on my body. We become a mess of hands and lips and teeth and tongues.
There is no music playing, or any other sound to fill the room other than our heavy breathing and passionate moans. It’s our own song that we’re making together.
He makes my thong and his underwear disappear and sits back on his heels, pulling me toward him. His eyelids are heavy, and a thin sheen of sweat covers his handsome face. His heart is beating so rapidly in his chest that I swear I can see it abusing his ribs. He maneuvers me on the bed so my legs dangle over the edge.
“I want to taste you.” He’s not asking permission, and he doesn’t need to. He hovers above, staring at me as if he’s trying to memorize every detail of my body. Then, when he’s finished, he kneels down in front of me draping each of my legs over his shoulders.
I gasp when his tongue pushes against my clit. Slowly, taking his time he reminds me of the virtues of oral sex. I writhe on his tongue when he slips two fingers inside, working me back and forth.
I explode in a body-tingling orgasm, and not all orgasms are the same. Those from a lover, instead of a just a sexual partner, are so much more intense.
Graham uses his fingers to gently bring me down while he leans up and dusts a kiss across my lips.
“Do we need a condom?” he asks in a very deep throaty voice as he positions the head of his dick against my still pulsing center.
“I’m good. You?”
His reply is to scoop me up and place me in the center of my bed. He’s resting on his knees in between my spread legs. Graham fists his cock in one hand and braces my hip with the oth
er. He works himself slowly inside of me, and takes my mouth when he reaches full penetration. He doesn’t move in a frenzy—in fact, he doesn’t move at all. He’s still inside of me while our tongues do the thrusting.
I’m lost in his talented mouth, and the feeling of fullness inside of me. I relax and give myself over to him, becoming pliable under his touch. He must sense it, because my mild-mannered teacher takes control. His demeanor shifts from one of sweet love-making to confident dominance.
He breaks our kiss as he leans back on his heels, pulling me with him. He uses both hands to rub and massage my nipples while he dives back and forth inside. I push my feet into the bed to give him a better angle. “Rachael, my girl, you were made for me. When I do this,” he says tweaking my nibbles, “do you feel how you flood with wetness?”
I moan as he does it over and over again.
Reaching around my behind, I grab one of his balls in my left hand and roll it between my fingers. “Fuck, baby,” he says, through clenched teeth.
His rhythm becomes more frenzied, which drives me crazy. I long for my release, but I want to make sure his is just as good as he’s making mine.
I dip my shoulder so I’m able to reach his other ball. As I give the second one a squeeze, he yells my name and swells larger inside of me. Then, I feel the warmth of desire flood my insides as he jerks and pulses. My body tenses as I take all of him, riding out my own bliss.
The next thing I’m aware of is his body lying on top of mine, but only for a brief second. He rolls off and on to his side, pulling me against him.
“That was …” I pant. “That was incredible.”
His long, defined arm rests on me from my shoulder to my hip. Lazily, he plants kisses in my hair. “You know, Rach, I’ve thought about this moment since I met you. I had all sorts of interesting things planned that I wanted to do to your body. But then you decide to do whatever that was with my balls … and … well, fuck, baby. All my plans went out the window.”