by Claire Adams
“I’m in love with him,” I whispered, my words emanating with drama, with life. And then we giggled together for a moment, lost in the comprehension that this was it—that us two girls were safe in our little abode at the top of the steps, away from the rushing Washington D.C. world.
I was so appreciative of Rachel’s words, of course. But I wasn’t sure if I was ready to tell Xavier about my dilemma. I tried to imagine the conversation playing out in my mind, and I couldn’t. When I told him—in this imagined reality—his face grew blank—no nose, no mouth, no eyes. Just grey and pale. Like a shadow of his former self.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, I woke in the guest bedroom. The light shone in brightly from the exterior courtyard. To the side, in the bed, lay Rachel. She was sleeping so peacefully. I remembered then, that we’d both stayed up in the guest bedroom watching television and giggling together until dawn, never wanting to say goodnight. I laughed at the thought of having a best girlfriend at the age of 29. But things were upside down in this new reality, anyway.
I righted myself and then peered over at the clock on the bedside table. My eyes grew large. “Shit!” I pushed myself from bed and sprang toward the shower, knowing that I was already 30 minutes late for work. I scrubbed at my scalp, at my back quickly, my mind rushing. Shit! I knew that we had a big campaign meeting again that morning—one to right the mistakes of the previous day, of course. I pulsed from the shower and wrapped a towel around my body, shaking at my hair. The water splashed everywhere. God, I didn’t want to go to work this day—I wanted to lounge around, cure myself of this terrorizing headache. Why! So much wine!
I stood out in the hallway, shuffling into my clothes and preparing for the day. I grabbed my briefcase and began shoving papers into it, feeling so frazzled. I tried to remember everything that we were meant to do for the meeting, every topic I was meant to cover. But the hangover hung over me like a cloud.
I heard the door creak to my right, and Rachel shuffled from the room, rubbing at her eyes. “What happened last night,” she teased in a croaking voice. “God, we’re not in college anymore. Do you want me to call you in sick?”
I laughed, feeling the strain of it hurt my back, my sides. “Everything hurts,” I murmured. “I have to go to a campaign meeting. I’m already late.”
I shuffled into the hallway and down the steps. A taxi was poised at the intersection outside the apartment building, and I pummeled into it, spewing the words: White House. I thought I was going to throw up.
But by the time we arrived at the White House, I had applied my makeup, brushed through my hair. I was feeling a bit better already. I sniffed and paid the taxi driver a bit extra than normal, thanking him for the use of his mirror. He said he did it all the time.
I rushed into the White House and flung myself down the hallway, knowing that everyone would be lined up at their tables, looking up at Jason—or perhaps Xavier—expectantly. Waiting and searching and waiting for me.
I took a deep breath and then shoved the door open, blinking out over the crowd. Standing next to the computer was Jason, who was wearing a typically wrinkly shirt and a pair of black, wrinkled pants. He turned his nose down to me and scoffed. “Look who decided to show up,” he stated, his eyebrow raised.
I smiled. A few of the people on the campaign team whopped and hollered from the innards of the crowd. I waved. “Sorry, sorry. I have no excuse beyond my aching headache.” I winked at a girl in the front row. In that moment, I realized that the president hadn’t arrived to the meeting yet, either. I turned toward Jason expectantly. “What have you covered?” I asked him.
Jason smacked his hand on the board. “We can’t cover anything! The president hasn’t showed his face in here yet, and you’ve only just arrived. We’ve been sitting here, scratching our asses!”
Only a few people snickered in the first few rows. I felt embarrassed for him, even though he was the one holding my entire livelihood over my head. I swallowed and tugged at my skirt. “Okay, Jason. Let’s get started. Shall we?”
The campaign team cheered for me as I righted myself up toward the front and began where I’d left off the previous day. I gestured wildly, made a few jokes, and generally made Jason steam where he stood, so incredibly angry that I was successful, the life of the party. And he was just the maniacal douchebag, ready to ruin my life through ill means.
“Do you have any questions?” I finally asked.
A few of the campaign members raised their hands, asking about the president’s stance on one thing or another. I realized that it was strange that Xavier hadn’t arrived yet to watch over the meeting. I bit my lip.
“Jason. Do you want to take over from here? About our press release about the tax reconstruction?”
“Giving me the fun parts, huh?” Jason teased. But I wouldn’t laugh at him; I wouldn’t give him anything.
I scurried toward the door and opened it, ready to go find Xavier. But suddenly, I met him—face-to-face outside. I gulped almost audibly and touched my hair, feeling like a nervous middle schooler.
“Xavier,” I gasped. I opened the door a bit wider, and his eyes met with mine with such zeal, such life. In that moment, I wanted to kiss him, to have him take me right there.
He entered the conference room, interrupting Jason’s spiel about taxes. He held up his hands and greeted the crowd. Each member nearly stood with their adoration with him, clapping their hands for this man they were going into battle for.
“You’ve all done such an excellent job this week. Which is why I want to make sure you all have a decent time off. Please. Everyone. Enjoy the rest of the afternoon. This is one of the last beautiful days of the year. And I’m certainly not going to miss it.” Xavier allowed them to see his stunning smile.
The campaign workers cheered and began scurrying from their chairs, toward the door. Jason stood, deflated, by the computer, tapping at the PowerPoint over and over. I smirked at him, if only for a moment.
As the people began to exit the conference room, Xavier leaned toward me. “I was actually hoping we could have a private meeting. Just you and me,” he whispered. “I have a few things to go over with you.”
“About the campaign?” I asked him, blinking wildly and smiling at him in that girlish way.
He nodded, placing his hand lightly at the small of my back. “Yeah. Of course. The campaign. I totally care about that right now.”
I allowed my head to drape back; I allowed myself to laugh for perhaps the first time in weeks—to truly laugh. Behind Xavier, I saw Jason looking on with a black expression on his face. “You can’t ruin me forever,” I thought all at once.
The president led me down the hallway, continually looking behind him to make sure no one was watching. When we skirted around a side hallway, he reached down and grabbed my hand, looking at me with these boyish eyes. “This is my very favorite, secret room of the entire White House,” he whispered.
The butterflies rose up in my stomach, nearly strangling me with my nervousness. I could hear my heels trample beneath me with every step, and thus I reached down and removed them, walking in stocking feet through the most beautiful building on earth. I swallowed with fear.
Finally, he pushed open a door at the end of a long, blue hallway. The door led us into a small, four-seat movie theater with a long, skinny table before the seats. The place was designed in the spirit of the 1940s—or perhaps during the 1940s. I spun toward him and squeezed his hand, allowing the door to close behind us with a commanding seal.
“This is it? This is your favorite secret room?” I whispered.
He nodded, laughing. “This is it. And I have a very special movie for us to watch today.”
My eyes brightened. I realized this was a date—a spontaneous date in the middle of the day, for the two of us to laugh, to cuddle, to eat. I needed this time of relaxation with him—to root myself in why I liked him once more. “What is it?” I whispered.
“Well. It goes wit
h the theme of the food, of course,” he stated.
He led me to the large, luxurious movie theater chair and allowed me to lean back into it, holding my arms on the armrests. I sighed and closed my eyes, smelling years and years of presidential popcorn emanating from the seat. “This is beautiful,” I murmured.
He clapped his hand then, and all of a sudden the large wall to our right opened to reveal two waiters. One of them held a great big pot of steaming cheese, while the other held a large pot filled with breads, vegetables, and meats. I clapped my hand over my mouth and jumped up and down in my chair. “Fondue!?” I asked him. And he nodded ravenously, rubbing his hands together.
He leaned toward me and kissed my cheek as the server came toward us and poured us two glasses of wine. “I want this day to be special for you. I’ve sensed you’ve been a little bit—stressed out lately.” He shrugged. “Probably with the campaign and everything?”
I thought for a moment, remembering Jason’s lewd face, the way he’d looked at me with that dark expression. I wanted to tell Xavier in that moment. But I didn’t want to ruin it.
I began dipping the bread and vegetables in the cheese. I lifted a piece of bread toward Xavier’s mouth, and he chewed it gladly, closing his eyes. “God, that’s good,” he murmured, licking his lips slightly.
And it was. The cheese sort of molded over my mouth in this initial creamy, gooey texture. The cheese was stinky—French. Which linked so well with our movie.
“An American in Paris,” Xavier declared as the movie began—that old, 1940s classic. My mouth opened, and I started laughing, cackling a bit like a young girl. I couldn’t believe this was my life.
“They probably watched this movie in this very theater, all those years ago!” I whispered to him, turning toward him. My eyes were big. “Thank you, Xavier. This is the most beautiful day.”
“You make me very happy, Amanda,” he whispered then. “I want you to know that.”
The movie took off from there, and I leaned onto Xavier’s shoulder, getting caught in the magic of that faraway day. I imagined us, briefly, as husband and wife—traveling through Paris, through Rome. I imagined us gazing off into our future together, creating a life together that we made up as we went along. It was beautiful, so freeing from this stance at the White House. Constriction was everything here.
Suddenly, I felt Xavier’s arm around my shoulder. He leaned down to me and whispered in my ear. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
Confused, I furrowed my eyebrows and followed him toward the side room of the theater. An American in Paris continued his twirl, one twirl after another beneath the Eiffel Tower. The magic of it made my skin glow.
Xavier stopped before a long, blank wall. It was conspicuous, since so many walls in the White House were adorned with decorations. “What is it?” I whispered to him.
And he reached up then, and grabbed a small latch. He tugged at it slightly, allowing his muscles to tighten. And then, he pulled an entire bed from the wall.
My jaw dropped. He controlled it steadily, allowing the massive, king-sized bed to fall to the floor. It was made perfectly, with these silky, gleaming sheets. I sighed and laid on it, nearly on accident. “Wow,” I breathed. “What is this magical place?”
And he laid down next to me, stroking my face with his fingers. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. His eyes looked so lazy, so sexual. I leaned toward him and caught his lips with mine, instantly making my pussy so wet, wanting him so bad.
He pushed me on my back on the mattress then. He began to unbutton my dress, one, two, three, four—all the zippers. My breasts bobbed from my bra and he caught his mouth around the nipple, tapping his tongue against it. He tugged my tights from my legs, leaving me completely naked on the bed before him, even as he continued to stand in his perfect, presidential suit.
“Stand up,” he whispered.
And I did. I stood up on the bed as he stood beside it. He brought his hands around and caught my ass with his fingers. He tugged my pussy toward him and stuck his tongue inside it and then on my clit, pumping it against me and making my back arch, forcing my breasts to the sky. I called out, and grabbed his hair. And still, he wouldn’t stop. He put me through so many levels of pleasure, of play. Right when I was about to come, he pushed me back on the mattress. I grabbed my pussy with my hand and fingered myself roughly, with such sexuality, feeling my juices flowing as he undressed himself.
“Get on your hands and knees,” he said then. I allowed him to enter me from behind, and I wrapped my hands backwards, around his neck as he fucked me this way. I called out, imagining that the entire White House could hear us fucking, could hear this wall bed slamming around.
His dick was so wide, so hard, and it penetrated me precisely, creating unbelievable pressure. I sighed and allowed his hands to wrap around my breasts, squeezing the nipples so hard. My screams came in small spurts now. My mind was a rolling mess of ecstasy.
Then, he pulled himself away from me. I placed his dick in my mouth—rest for him, rest for me. And I rubbed my tongue against the babylike skin, loving the way his face changed as I blew him. I allowed him to rub my clit as I did it, and with every lick, I let out a long, high squeal. This man, this man was everything.
He caught his hands around my cheeks and watched me do it for a moment, watched the way my soft mouth held his wide dick. “God, baby. This is too good,” he murmured. “God, this is good.” His words were simple and his face was so youthful, so pure.
I fell back on the bed then—on my back. I opened my legs wide, showing him my pussy—so deep, pulsing before him. And he clambered over me, sticking his dick so deep inside of me, I could feel the physical passion of it deep in my spine. My nails inverted themselves into his back, and I called toward the ceiling. I felt tears fall from my eyes. I felt like the world was ending, but it was all happening at once.
He fucked me like this for a moment, allowing his eyes to penetrate mine. We were on the precise same wavelength in that moment; we were the only two people who had ever existed on the earth. Certainly, he’d never felt this with his wife. Certainly, I’d never felt this with any other person. My thoughts were nowhere else. They couldn’t belong to anyone else. They were solely rooted in his body, in his mind.
He jolted into me over and over. He grabbed my tits and he whispered in my ear, “Baby. I’m going to come.”
And I wanted him to. I felt his dick pulsing in me, like it was the end of something. I clutched his shoulders and told him it was okay. That this was his only chance. And he shoved himself in me with one voluminous crank.
He came all at once, allowing his eyes to open wide as he did it in such shock. The pleasure of it seemed to roll through me and force my pussy to feel, to know. I felt the orgasm begin in my clit and then move toward my brain, forcing my eyes wide open to meet his. We came all at once, like this: facing toward a future that we couldn’t comprehend. This was our life now. This was our forever.
But it could only last so long. We laid together on the satin-sheeted bed for several moments without talking. We held hands in the center, both of us just listening to each other’s heart beating as we breathed. The ceiling up above us seemed lined with cracks, and momentarily, I was very worried that the entire building was going to come crashing down.
I whispered to him then. “What’s going to happen to us?”
He leaned over on his elbow and blinked at me, his face so open. “What do you mean?”
I caught his lips in mine, still feeling my pussy so wet for him, wanting more. Perhaps later? I chugged forward with my words. “I mean. What’s going to happen to us? We’re so—you’re so…” My words were cascading from my mouth. I wanted to tell him I loved him again. That was the only thing I could think of, in that moment.
Luckily, he did it for me. He kissed my nose and smiled that perfect, tooth-filled smile. “Baby. I love you,” he whispered. “And we’re going to get through this t
ogether. I promised you a good future, without even knowing this was going to happen. And I still mean that.”
His words seemed so sure, so trusting. I bit my lip before telling him a very quiet “I love you, too.” But then, I remembered Rachel’s words. How could I actually love him if I didn’t respect him enough to carry my problems, to help me through this terrifying event in my life. I inhaled slowly and closed my eyes.
“What is it?” Xavier asked me, folding my hair over my ear. “What’s going on?”
But a single tear had emanated down my cheek. “Um. Xavier. I can’t—I can’t live without telling you this anymore.”
Xavier laughed, almost half-heartedly. I think he could tell something was really wrong. “What is it?” His thumb traced my cheek, and I wanted to stay together like this for the rest of my days.
But I knew that Xavier would help me; Xavier would get me out of this mess. Perhaps he would even put Jason in jail—or send him off to Bora Bora. Whatever! As long as he and his photographs were out of my life, not sure to ruin my entire existence, my entire career.
I swallowed. “Okay. It’s a doozy. Are you sure you’re ready?” I asked him. My eyes blinked wildly.
He nodded. “I’m ready,” he whispered. He winked at me, even, warming me up. Assuring me it was okay.
“Okay. Do you remember the first time we did this—the first time we got together?” My voice was so meek, lacking any sort of certainty.
He nodded, grinning. “How could I forget.”
“Right,” I whispered. “Right. But what if I told you—you weren’t the only one who knew about that rendezvous?”
He sat up on his elbow, now—higher. Alert. “What’s that?” Clearly I wasn’t telling him anything he wanted to hear. “Someone knows about that time? About us being together?”
I nodded, feeling another tear course down my cheek. Suddenly, I was so worried. But I’d already come too far to turn back—I’d already given him too much information. I swallowed. “It’s just. Someone was spying on me for some reason.” My voice cracked.