by Claire Adams
Finally, I heard the familiar trouncing of Xavier’s feet. My ears perked up, and I stood as he entered. Our eyes met in an intimate way—so pensive, so full of emotion. I swallowed as he came closer. His beard was so dark, making him look jagged, almost warrior-like, even in his presidential position. I liked feeling like this president could care for me, could look after me in times of crisis.
He approached me and reached out his hand, shaking mine formally. His words were cordial. “Thank you for taking the time out of your Sunday for this meeting.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. President,” I stated, sitting down. We were so many feet apart. I couldn’t imagine that our lips would ever come together in such a world as this.
Xavier suddenly sputtered into action, then, calling the waiter. “Yes. Yvonne will carefully explain the menu we’ve orchestrated for the evening,” Xavier began.
Yvonne cleared his throat. “We’ll begin with a divine Mediterranean platter, with a bit of antipasto. Afterwards, we’ll have a brief bread course, followed by the soup. Then, we’ll have a main dish—duck—followed, of course, with dessert.” He bowed before me, making me feel nervous—like I needed to clap. Instead, I just laughed, feeling like a fool.
“That sounds wonderful,” I said, bringing my hands together.
“The president and his work associate will dine momentarily,” Yvonne stated then, skirting back toward the kitchen.
I allowed the silence to hang between us for a moment before I said anything. “Yvonne is really excellent.”
“He’s wonderful. I enjoy all the people I have on staff.” He sipped at his wine, gazing at me. There was such intimacy in the air. “How was your weekend?” he finally asked.
I bit my lip for a moment, remembering all the lost hours I’d spent daydreaming about him. “It was nice to get away from work for a little while,” I whispered.
He nodded. “I hope the polls haven’t dropped too much since you went away.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You know I’m far too careful for that.” I raised my eyebrows, knowing that I was insinuating something else—an affair that wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t go on.
The food swept in, then. The first course. Then the second. The president and I busied ourselves with small talk—much of which put me nearly to tears with its hilarity. I slurped the soup and nearly squirted it out, yelling out: “Stop it, Xavier! You’re going to make me choke to death!”
“I can’t help that I’m the funniest president since Clinton,” he said simply, his eyes bright.
I bit my lip, feeling the soft candles as they glittered their light across my eyes. I searched around me, noting that the Secret Service was outside the door, twenty feel away. I leaned over the table and whispered toward him. “This dinner is really perfect, you know that?”
Xavier shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “I wanted things to be special for you. I don’t get out of my apartment or the Oval Office often. And I have a feeling that you don’t get out much, either.”
I shook my head, bowing it a bit. I didn’t like that Xavier could see through me so well. It was like he knew my every thought, my every need. I placed my spoon next to my bowl—the soup bowl I’d scraped clean. “Should we do a bit of talking about work?”
Xavier gave me that crooked smile once more—that dark, penetrating stare. “Why stop now?”
The main course and the dessert were, once again, completely perfect. I felt that my soul was rejuvenated after such a hefty few days of anxiety, of continuous daydreaming. I felt like Xavier was welcoming me back into the world. And it was a beautiful, luxurious one at that.
I tapped on my stomach and gazed around the room after the meal, as Yvonne took our plates away.
“What are you thinking about?” Xavier asked me, gazing at me through the candle light.
“That I’ve never had a more perfect day,” I whispered, hoping no one in the world would ever hear those words. They were private, for him and I. For no one else.
Chapter 11
Xavier pushed himself up from the table, a bit uneasy on his feet. He smiled at me in that crooked way. I was falling in love with him in each passing moment. But I didn’t want to admit it to myself.
“Did the wine go to your head?” I asked him, teasing him. I felt a lightness about myself, as well.
He reached out his hand to me and I accepted it. We stood there together, in the shell of the candlelight. I couldn’t help but gaze into his eyes, feeling such a weight in me. Every time I was with him, the world around us seemed to calm; I seemed to forget every element of my responsibilities, of my dreams. I could just be. There was a freedom in it.
“Do you want to dance?” he asked me then, his words a bit sloppy.
My eyes coursed toward the doorway, where I could see the Secret Service walking and talking, a bit anxious to go home.
I shook my head. “Too many witnesses,” I said, my eyebrows going high on my forehead. I felt silly, for some reason—up for anything.
Xavier nodded, stepping closer to me. I half expected his mouth to come toward mine, to engage in that kiss once more. Deep in my heart, in my stomach, I wanted it—I wanted so much more, as well.
But instead, he whispered in my ear. “Do you want me to take you home?”
I reared back for a moment, shocked at his words. He’d been such a president during much of dinner—with a loud voice, with a dominant personality. But this softer side forced me to nod my head, to lower my eyebrows, and to admit to myself that I very much wanted him to take me home. “Please,” I said, biting my lip once more.
He allowed me to accept his arm, and we walked out into the foyer, where we found the secret servicemen, including Dimitri. Dimitri looked at me with a vague, confused expression. He didn’t say anything, of course. Gosh, he’d been my friend for so many, many years. What would he think of me, now?
“Gentlemen. I’m going to accompany Miss Martin back to her home. Dimitri, if you could drive us. I believe you know the way rather well,” Xavier announced, administering his president voice once more. I sniffed, lowering my eyes. I tried to become invisible—not a proud, dominant girl of the White House. Surely not her.
“Yes, sir,” Dimitri stated, his voice a bit harsh. I looked down at the ground, not wanting to see his assuredly shocked, angry expression. Sure, I’d known he liked me throughout all those years of friendship. I didn’t mean for it to be this way—for this start of a torrid affair hurt his feelings. It wasn’t meant to be like this.
Dimitri rushed to grab the car. Meanwhile, the other secret servicemen grabbed a few others, meaning to follow us, I supposed. Xavier and I stood together, my arm still through his. We casually sipped on wine and spoke of other things—not of the things we might do, in the back of that black, secret car. I wanted to smack myself, to allow myself to understand that this was all off-limits. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t do this. I would dance with him, hold his hand. I’d talk to him and play fantasies in my head. But no more.
Dimitri pulled up before the White House, allowing us to enter the back seat of the black vehicle. Xavier swept in after me, closing the door with an affirmative clunk. In the back, the intensity was heightened incredibly. Xavier’s face was inches from my own, and our lips were so close together, needing each other. I held my hand over his chest and I pressed my fingertips into his muscles, wanting to rip his clothes from his skin. Stop, I kept thinking. Stop wanting him.
Stop needing him.
Dimitri pulled up in front of the apartment building without my realizing that time had passed. Xavier turned toward me, his breath hot. “Do you want me to walk you up?” he whispered, his mouth so straight, so serious across his face.
I paused for a moment, my mind rushing. Perhaps this could be the only time? I nodded subtly, allowing it. I needed him so deep in me. My pussy called out for him, needing him. I wanted him to rip my clothes from me, to bang me into a wall. Anything, goddammit. Anything.
Xavier cal
led up to Dimitri in the front seat. “Dimitri. Drive around the block for about an hour or so. Okay? I’ll call you when I need picked up.”
“Will do, sir. The others will come wait outside the door.”
“The others?” I asked Xavier, then.
Xavier nodded. “I come with a slew of Secret Service every time I leave the White House. You’ll get used to it.”
What did he mean I would get used to it? I wasn’t sure I would. I panicked at the thought of even one person knowing about this, let alone many. But I stepped out of the vehicle anyway and found myself walking into my apartment building with the president’s arm around my lower back. My need for him overtook anything else. I couldn’t think anymore.
I rustled the key from my pocket and stuffed it into the doorknob, pushing it open. Xavier darted in after me, closing it behind us. He gazed around my apartment, tapping his tongue against the top of his mouth. “Not bad, Miss Martin. Not bad.”
I stood at the doorway, trying to right my emotions and my inner self. I was in there somewhere. All my hopes and dreams had to overtake my sexual drive! I knew that I was being unruly—that my feelings for this man couldn’t come to fruition. Sure, he was the most attractive man I’d ever seen. His power was outrageous, and the way he kissed me made me swoon.
But I couldn’t allow it to continue. I cleared my throat. “Do you want some wine?” I asked him. I would change the conversation; perhaps I could ask him about his wife again.
He spun around and nodded. “I’d love some.” Thankfully, he kept his distance, standing over by the bookcase. “You have some great books in here.” He brought his hands into his pockets. I imagined them all over my body, rubbing at me. Forcing me to come to orgasm.
I nodded, pouring the glasses. “If only I had time to read them, you know.”
“Oh, I know. I’m saving all the reading for after the presidency.”
I didn’t want to tell him that if we were caught doing this—even just drinking in this apartment like friends—he wouldn’t make the next election. He would be on his back, reading paperbacks until the day he died. He would be known as another president who had a sordid affair with a White House employee, thus ruining both his career and hers.
Mine.
“Me, too. After my presidency, of course,” I said, clinking my glass with his. I winked at him. “Cheers.”
His eyes flitted over me, over my breasts, over my waist. He shook his head, as if he couldn’t comprehend something.
“What is it?” I asked him, genuinely curious. I felt like I was on display, suddenly.
“I just—I can’t believe you exist.”
I tapped the glass on the table before me, and crossed my arms, my mind rushing. “We can’t, Xavier,” I whispered. “We can’t.”
He tapped his glass next to mine and took a step forward. With each step, I felt myself take another back. Back and back and back, like my kitchen went on forever. “Please, Xavier,” I whispered. My voice pleaded with him, but I knew my eyes gave me away. They wanted him. God, I wanted him.
Finally, I was against the door. I could feel my spine wheedle into the wood. His body was so hot against mine. He whispered into my ear: “What is it we can’t do?” His voice rasped with such sensuality.
And then I nearly fell into his arms. He kissed me so passionately, rubbing his hands against my breasts, against my thin waist. I kissed back with such earnestness, as well. I felt my knees give out, and I sighed into him, feeling my hands begin to unbutton his shirt. I ripped open the thing, allowing a few buttons to course wildly through the kitchen.
His immaculate, muscled chest gleamed in the light from my kitchen. He removed his shirt, allowing his upper arms to pulse with each movement. He placed his hands on neck and began to unzip my dress, as well, slipping it down around my ankles. He revealed me in just my tights; just my bra.
“God. You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
And then, he was on me once more, bringing his hands around my back and unhooking my bra, leaving me to gasp before him, my breasts bouncing into his open hands. He brought his mouth around the nipples, coursing the tongue up and down, over and over. I felt my pussy become so wet in my tights.
He gripped my waist, then, and carried me toward the couch. He sat down and swept me over him, allowing me to straddle him. He grabbed my tights and ripped them all the way down the leg, leaving me to gasp with delight. He separated the lips of my pussy and placed his hand on my clit, making me call out with such pleasure. I closed my eyes, seeing stars.
I reached toward his waist and undid his belt, stripping him naked on the couch along with me. I knelt down and placed my mouth around his huge, pulsing dick and rolled my tongue around and around, hearing his gasps and sighs as I did it. I couldn’t believe I could make the president orgasm; I couldn’t’ believe I could make him feel this good.
But then, he pushed me down onto the couch, making me giggle a bit, even as my breasts bounced on my chest. “What are you doing,” I laughed at him, giving myself over once again to emotion.
“You look fucking great,” he said, thrusting his dick into me and bringing my feet up around his stunning face. He fucked me like that, with my legs vertically in the air and my head and back arched. Each penetration made me roar for more. He reached down and clamped my nipples with his strong fingers—the very ones he’d used to sign such important documents, to declare his oath to the presidency. And now—and now—
Each thrust shuddered the couch into the wall, making the entire apartment creak. The neighbors would hear, I knew; but they wouldn’t know who was making the noise. They wouldn’t dare say a thing.
After he nearly crushed the couch into the heaping brick wall, he wasn’t done. He removed his dick from me, then, leaving me gasping. He brought me up onto the table, then. I stood on all fours, allowing him to enter my pulsing, dripping pussy from behind. “Yeah, baby,” I said. “Yeah.” I rubbed my clit from the front, feeling my orgasm revving in me, pushing all doubts of my love for this man aside. “Don’t stop!” I cried to the air around us. I felt like I was going to cry; I felt like this was the culmination of all my lack of feeling over the years. I’d had nothing for too long.
“Come for me, baby. Come for me,” the president said over and over. His hand reached around and helped me rub my clit, over and over again. Finally I did; I came, allowing my muscles and my head and my thoughts to come free from the constraints of the past several years. I fell to the table in a fit of stars, of feeling. Xavier placed his hand on my ass, allowing me the comfort of coming down from such passion.
Xavier knelt down before me. His face was so serene. Nothing of the leader of the free world was portrayed upon it. I cooed at his face and placed my finger on the tip of his nose, on his mustache. “That, my friend, was brilliant,” I whispered to him, my eyes filled with light.
He knelt and kissed me once more. I could feel the passion digging into my gut. I wanted him to stay; I wanted to continue fucking him, to have him continue fucking me. I reached up and brought my arms around him, and he carried me into the bedroom, tucking me beneath the covers.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to him, my words so sleepy, so disoriented. “Where are you going?”
He was pulling his pants on, buttoning his shirt. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” he whispered. “My gorgeous, gorgeous secret.”
I bit my lip and hid beneath the covers for a moment, barely believing what I’d just done. I’d fucked the president of the United States. And I felt my heart falling for him, harder and harder with every single passing second.
What was I going to do?
Chapter 12
I rose early, feeling the pulsing headache emanating through my forehead. I brought my legs over to the side, leaning my head into my hands. Every limb throughout my naked body seemed to quake. What the hell had happened last night?
I stood, feeling my nakedness reveal itself to the sunlit room. The open window presented
a chorus of bird’s songs that lifted my spirits so readily, making me jump to the coffee machine and begin the brew. I couldn’t believe the previous night had happened. I stood naked in the kitchen, doing a slight dance for myself, my eyes closed.
I took a quick shower and dressed for work, seeing myself in a whole new light. I knew that the president understood the secrecy of the previous night, and for some reason, I wasn’t worried. This was always going to happen. There was something in us that couldn’t resist each other. Why should we fight it?
I took a taxi to work, like normal, and found myself in a sea of phone calls, of flying papers. I smiled to myself, loving the chaos once more. I reminded myself that this was all for the man of my dreams: that each day of my life, I worked to propel his life forward. And in turn, he propelled me forward, as well. We were the perfect political team. Except, of course, that we were completely off the record.
I was sure it had happened before.
I was sitting at my desk, riffling through various memos, when I received the call. I grabbed the phone and sighed into it, knowing that even he couldn’t make me feel strange this day. “Hello, Jason.” I waited for my second in command to speak.
His voice was strained. “Listen, Amanda. I need you to come into my office.”
I grew a bit haughty in these moments, admittedly. “I’m sorry, Jason. That will have to wait. I have a phone meeting with Atlanta in twenty minutes.”
But Jason was persistent. “No, Amanda. This is very urgent. I need you to reschedule all of your phone calls for the day. Get in here. Now.”
I raised my eyebrow, growing angry. I was first in command; he was second. A solid second. But something in his voice forced me to agree. I gathered a few of my papers, wondering what had gone wrong. Perhaps some rating in Texas or Alaska had fallen. Something was always happening somewhere. We couldn’t control a group of people bigger than twenty-five.
As I tapped to Jason’s office, my mind dwelled on a million other Xavier-related things. The touch of his hand on my spine; the way his tongue had felt on my pussy, on my nipples. I bit my lip as I walked, feeling so horny, even there at the office. I wondered if I could just sweep off to his Oval Office, only for a moment—