by Layne Harper
It’s such a sweet and honest declaration. I flip over and kiss his full lips. “I’m sure there will be plenty more times to try out your fantasies.”
His confident smirk kills me. It makes me want to jump him again, but I don’t think either one of us has recovered from the first time. “Trust me, sweetness. There will be plenty more times.”
And there were. After the fourth orgasm, I collapsed against his chest. We’re insatiable—every bit as horny as his students—but I’m feeling bruised, and need some time to recover.
I roll over and gaze into his sparkling eyes. His lids are heavy, and he smiles at me, a smile that makes something inside of me tingle. I want to know him better, all of his secrets.
“Graham, tell me one of your favorite memories as a kid.”
“Hmmm …” He strokes my hair while intermittently massaging my scalp. It feels divine. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just want to know something fantastic that happened before I met you.”
“My life began last week,” he replies in a tone that makes it sound like the worst pickup line ever.
I laugh, and playfully elbow him in the ribs.
“Okay, Okay. Give me a second.” He pauses for a couple of heartbeats and says, “I’ve got one. So you know that my sister is so much older than me …”
I shoot out of his embrace at the mention of his sister’s age. The devil has a smirk on his face, knowing that he’s pushing my buttons. I make a halfhearted attempt to crawl out of bed, but he grabs me and pulls me to him, laughing like a hyena.
I scream with laughter, trying everything in my power to escape him, but he sits on my hips and pins my hands over my head. “Graham Jackson, you’re an asshole. You should never point out the age difference between a man and woman. It’s uncouth.”
“Uncouth?” He smirks. “Was it uncouth when I used my tongue to make you come not once, but twice?” He raises his eyebrows and waits for my response.
He’s so damn cocky, and all I can do is smile knowing that for the first time in a very long time, I’m not only enjoying having sex, but I’m loving the after-orgasm time, instead of getting dressed and racing out of the room before we have to have forced conversation.
When I don’t reply quickly enough, he presses against my wrists reminding me that I’m his captive. “Was it uncouth when I slid two fingers into your tight pussy and finger-fucked you while I licked and nibbled on your clit? Say you loved every second, and I’ll let you up.”
I thrash back and forth, and pretend to try to wiggle free of him. His growing erection tells me that he’s enjoying this as much as I am. When he’s fully erect, I stop struggling and ask him politely to let me up.
He keeps my hands pinned above my head, but parts my legs, slipping his cock inside of me. The penetration burns, and I am very aware of our many rounds. My body responds and the wetter that I am, the less it aches. The struggle to hold me down clearly is a turn-on for him. I’m completely at his mercy, unable to do much but lie here and let him use me as he sees fit.
“Is this uncouth?” he asks as he moves his dick in a circular motion inside of me.
I shake my head and close my eyes as the soreness completely retreats, and my body opens for him.
“Tell me that you want me to take you again.”
I open my eyes and study his gorgeous face. It feels liberating to just have someone focus on my pleasure without me having to worry about theirs. “I love it like this, Graham,” I coo. “Feel how wet I am for you.”
“You’re soaking my dick. You like it when I fuck you like this.”
“I do.” My head falls side to side as he rubs his dick back and forth over the place inside me that makes me come.
He thrusts in and out, in and out, and my body is so desperate for him the build surprises me with its intensity.
My head sinks deeper into the pillow, and my eyes roll back. I think I might shout/scream his name, but I’m not sure. My orgasm rips through me, and I close my eyes as if shielding myself from the intensity.
“Fuck, Rachael, when your pussy tightens like that, I can’t hold back,” he says through clenched teeth.
As I come down from my pleasure, I’m able to experience him finding his own. I must say, it’s one of the hottest things I’ve witnessed. His eyes are squeezed tight and his hair is wet with perspiration and pushed away from his face. The corded muscles in his neck and jaw are so tight that they stretch his skin. Just knowing that it’s my body that is making him feel such intense sensation is enough to make me ready for another round.
He releases my arms and places his hands on either side of my head, and leans down and kisses my lips. “Now that was uncouth.”
He moves to my right side and turns me so that we’re spooning. The quiet of my bedroom, along with our numerous activities, have made my eyes heavy with sleep. Just as I’m about to give in, he says in a scratchy voice, “Growing up, I adored my sister. But, because of our age difference, we really didn’t have much in common.”
I’m finally getting the family story I asked for thirty minutes ago.
“When I was about ten, I started taking martial arts. Kelly was dating a guy named James. His family bought one of the UFC fights on pay-per-view. It was brand new then. No one really knew what MMA was. Anyway, Kelly invited me over to James’s house to watch the fight.”
He pauses, and a comfortable silence settles over us. I like that we can exist together like this without one or the other feeling forced to speak. “Kelly rarely included me in anything, so this was a big deal. My parents let me go.”
I’m trying to remember if I knew a James. Finally, I have to ask, “Did James go to school with Kelly and me?”
Graham gives a rueful laugh. “Umm … No. He went to one of the other private schools in Houston. Kelly met him at a club called Cars that she was banned from going to.”
“Oh my God. I remember that club. Caroline and I wanted to go so bad. We talked her older sister Chelsea into taking us. It was super fun.” I love that we have shared memories.
“It was closed by the time I was old enough to go.”
Without missing a beat, I say, “That’s because you’re a baby. You missed out on all kinds of cool stuff. I saw Goonies, Top Gun, and Star Wars in the movie theater. You had to watch it on some tired VHS tapes.”
He kisses my cheek. “You win. I’ll never mention our age difference again.”
Then, he brings us back to his story. “Anyway, Kelly and I arrived at James’s house and his parents had one of those big-screen TVs that was the size of, like, a crate. It was the coolest thing that I had ever seen. Kelly, James, and about ten other teenagers watched this new thing called UFC. Because I was taking martial arts, I knew a lot of the moves and techniques.”
He pauses and when he speaks again, I hear the smile in his voice. “I was only ten, but I was the coolest kid in the room of teenagers because I knew about MMA. And that, Rachael, my dear, is why MMA is better than boxing.”
I wiggle my behind against him. “I love that story. Don’t agree with the conclusion. What happened to James?”
“He married my sister and contributed half of the genes that make up my perfect niece. Thank goodness she snuck into Cars, huh?” He kisses my temple and pulls me tightly to him.
“You talk a lot about your niece. Do you want kids?” It’s a logical question, and one that’s way too early in our relationship to discuss, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
His answer is immediate. “Yes. I absolutely want kids. But I’m in no hurry to be a dad. Make sense?”
“Yeah.”
“You?” His muscles tense ever so slightly.
Unlike him, I don’t reply quickly. I need a moment to formulate my answer correctly. Finally, I say, “I hate to point out the age difference again, since you said that you’d never bring it up, but I’m almost thirty-nine. I’m not sure that having a baby is really in my future. Up until just recently, I would have
said that I didn’t want kids, but now I’m not so sure that’s still my feelings.”
Graham doesn’t respond. He relaxes against me as we let silence fill the air. The white noise of passing cars lulls us to sleep, or maybe it’s exhaustion from all the sex, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of this man cradling me to him as if I’m the most cherished possession in his world.
Chapter Eight
“Rach … Rachael … What’s that sound?” Graham asks through a scratchy voice.
I sit up straight in bed. “That’s my emergency pager,” I yell, as I desperately try to remember where my purse is. Oh yes! Downstairs on the chair.
I jump out of bed and fly down the stairs, hitting the landing as I hear two loud knocks on my front door.
“Oh God,” I groan. “I’m naked.” I smell like a cheap whore and have evidence of our night crusted onto the inside of my thighs.
“Just a second,” I yell to whomever was sent to fetch me.
“Mrs. Early,” the deep baritone voice says through my wooden door. “The President requires your presence immediately.”
“You’re going to have to give me ten minutes,” I yell back.
I dig out the archaic device and read the screen. Sure enough, in typical fashion, I get no information on what the emergency is, just that I’m being summoned to 1500 Pennsylvania Avenue. I quickly punch in on the old keyboard. “Be there shortly.”
Turning around, I walk back up my stairs and into the bedroom. The hottest man in the universe is naked with a raging hard-on. “God,” I groan. “That looks good enough to eat,” I say with a devilish grin. “But can you give me a rain check? I’ve been paged.”
“Paged?” he asks, his eyebrows meeting his hairline in confusion.
“Yes, paged,” I walk out of my bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom to grab a washcloth. No time for a shower. I’m going to have to take a whore bath, as my roommate in grad school called it.
When I walk back into my bedroom, Graham is doing nothing to make this easier on me. He’s lying on top of the covers in all of his morning glory. His morning scruff looks damn sexy, and I long to nuzzle against it, feeling the tickle on my face. His eyes are bright and expecting. He’s fisting his very engorged penis. Momentarily, I lose my train of thought before I shake myself back to reality. Job. Emergency. White House. Go.
“Pagers are very hard to trace. I carry one for … well … emergencies,” I explain as I wipe the inside of my thighs, tossing the washcloth on my dresser.
“Is this an emergency?” he asks, stroking his dick, knowing full well that I can’t indulge.
But before I can stop myself, I run my tongue over my lips and feel my lower stomach flood with warmth. How big of an emergency at the White House? Five minutes … Real quick …
No, Rachael. Job first. Then cute boy.
“Unfortunately, as appetizing as that is,” I drop my chin and lick my lips suggestively, “I have to go. I’ll ask Lou to drive you home.”
“Any chance of me spending more time with you today?” His dick begins to deflate, mimicking my emotions.
“If history holds true, probably not. I’ll call you when I have a chance.”
I throw on a pair of comfortable jeans and a Gap sweatshirt. I dig in the back of my closet and pull out a pair of Ugg boots. Next, I make my way into the bathroom to remove the remnants of last night’s makeup, and slick my hair back into a ponytail. Seven years ago, would I have gone to the White House looking like this? Not on your life. Today, it’s just going to have to do.
I walk back into the bedroom. Graham already has his underwear on. It’s a crying shame to hide that man’s body in clothes. I watch him turn away from me and bend over to pick up his slacks. I feel bad for the guy. He’s having to do the walk of shame in a tux.
Then I spot something on the back of his calf muscle. “Graham, what’s on your leg?” I ask as I walk towards him.
“What? My tattoo?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at his calf.
“Yeah. I guess. You have a tattoo?” I bend down to examine it and burst into laughter. “Oh my God! It’s Greek letters. Is that the frat you were in?”
He reaches down and grabs me under my arms, pulling me to my feet. With amusement in is voice, he says, “As a matter of fact, it was and is. And quit laughing. All my fraternity brothers have the same tattoo.”
I bite my lip to try to stifle my laughter. It’s just so absurd. How can a thirty-year-old still have the college frat letters on his body? There’s a laser that can remove stupid tats from college.
He cups my chin and says, “You might not understand it, but it’s important to me. Okay?”
I nod. “I’m sorry for laughing.” Not really. “I’ll let you draw on me with a permanent marker if you’ll forgive me.”
He drops my chin and sits down on the bed to slide his pants on. “I don’t want to scribble on your beautiful skin. I like tattoos. That doesn’t mean that I want another one. But the tat on my leg marks an important time in my life. Think of it as a battle scar.”
Now that makes sense to me. I nod. “Lou will come back and get you after he drops me off.”
Graham buttons his pants and gives me a kiss on the tip of my nose. “No need to waste tax payer dollars. I’ve called a cab.”
“L … Look,” I stammer. “I’m really sorry about this, but this is my life for the next year. If you can’t hang with the constant job interruptions, I understand.” I do understand, but damn I’ll be sad if this is a deal-breaker.
He walks over to me with a very serious look on his face. “Not even for a moment would I consider not seeing you again. Now, go save the world, cowgirl.” I even get a slap on my behind.
I meet Lou with a goofy grin on my face. I feel like a girl who’s just won the lottery.
***
“We’re watching This Week,” President Jones announces when we’re all convened around the conference table in my office. I’m assuming my office was chosen for this early Sunday morning get-together because his office was too junky for all of us to fit. The Vice-President is sitting next to Evan, who is next to Carl. Carl is also an advisor, helping to form the immigration reform bill.
“Mr. President,” I start before I clear my throat. “It’s really early on Sunday morning after a late Saturday night. With all due respect, is it really necessary that we watch this together?” Please let the answer be no … I also would like to add that seriously, this is not a reason to call an emergency meeting on a Sunday.
“Tell her, Evan,” the President says, looking toward Evan, who had a great night, if the bags under his eyes are any indication. I bet we got about the same amount of sleep, which is next to none.
“Roan is going to float some of the immigration reform ideas that we’re toying with, and two of the three Sons of Liberty are doing a live interview with Greg Kanes in,” he checks his watch, “about thirty minutes.”
I stand up and make my way to my Keurig. It’s my default when Maggie isn’t here to brew the coffee. It’s definitely a two or three-cup kind of morning.
I must admit that I’m still a little annoyed that we have to watch this together. Normally, Evan and I watch the Sunday morning political shows from the comfort of our living rooms, and discuss them on Monday. In the seven years that the president has been in office, we’ve never all convened on a Sunday morning to watch television.
“Can you grab me a cup?” Evan calls.
“Me too,” the Vice-President chimes in.
I prepare two more cups and bring them back to my conference table.
Evan turns on the television, and we all settle in to watch the fireworks.
Roan is the first interview. He looks polished as always, in his Armani suit. His name flashes up on the screen with the title Presidential Advisor underneath it. Roan’s stock just went up twenty points.
Even I have to admit that he does a good job of selling some of the ideas that we’re going to include in the bi
ll. His aura on-camera is completely different than how he comes off in person. He really does seem just like a concerned citizen, trying to make a difference.
The President is pleased. He’s got a huge goofy grin and keeps glancing at me with a look that screams, “I told you so.” When the first commercial comes on, I make huge, exaggerated eye rolls and announce, “He’s doing a fine job.”
“I told you he would, Rach. He’s a pompous little prick, but he knows how to sell ice to Eskimos.”
“Mr. President, and I mean this in the kindest way, but gloating gives you wrinkles.” I try to hide my smile as I deliver my line, but I can’t.
“I’ll remind you of that the next time you’re making bets with my son.” He has a twinkle in his eye this morning that I’ve missed seeing. Sometimes we all get so caught up in the fast-paced, swirl of crisis that surrounds us on an hourly basis that we forget to just have a little fun. I attribute that revelation to a particular dark-haired boy with an interesting tattoo that I left half-naked in my bed.
Yes. It completely sucks to be called away from Graham this morning, but my heart warms to a see a bit of Langford Jones as he was before he became president.
“Touché, Mr. President, touché.”
Roan kills it during the next segment also. The questions he’s asked are tough. Greg does a good job of presenting the counter-side of the debate, and Roan is prepared with his answers.
The whole time he’s speaking, I question if he’s one of the Sons of Liberty. The theory thrown out last night mixed with my own thoughts about Roan’s maybe secret identity has stuck in my crawl. It would make sense why there are only two of the radio commentators instead of three appearing in the next segment. I don’t get a chance to think about the implications on the White House if he is indeed a member because at the next commercial break, Evan pauses the program and fills the President, the Vice-President, and Carl in on what we know about the Sons of Liberty. They already are very aware of their impact in Tuesday’s election, so we’re all curious to hear what these guys have to say when they’re the ones in the hot seat.