“They can't see inside, Mess. Now, palms on the fucking window, and spread those pretty little legs of yours. You need this. I need this.”
All reason vanishes at the first swipe of his finger between my swollen lips. Eagerly I obey his orders. The warm glass suctions to my sweaty palms. I dig my bare toes into the carpet, fighting to remain upright as his hand slides along my slick skin.
My head lolls forward. Eyes hooded, I stare at his forearm as his hand moves beneath my gaping black slacks and hot pink lace panties. He positions a solid steel rod between my ass cheeks with a hard thrust. Arching my back, I grind my ass against his hard cock.
“Fuck.” The word is more of a hiss, his lips hot against my ear. “If I can't lick you, at least I can sink some part of me into what’s mine.” A sharp gasp passes my dry lips before morphing into an unladylike moan as three fingers plunge inside. I whimper, giving myself completely to the elation coursing through my veins. Those deft fingers set a fast, demanding pace, taking me closer to the edge. Without breaking the pounding rhythm, he rotates his wrist to flick my swollen bundle of nerves with his thumb.
Ignoring how I should act, my powerful title, and where we are, I ride his hand, grinding down hard, desperately wishing it was the hard cock currently bruising my ass.
“That's it, baby,” he murmurs into my hair. “Fuck my fingers. Give yourself to me.”
I groan and lean forward. The hot glass heats my forehead. A palm slips on the windowpane as I press against it, needing help supporting my weight as my knees wobble. Wet lips crush against the column of my neck. Blunt teeth skim along the tight tendons and my throbbing pulse. I squeeze around his thick fingers, thighs flexing as my short breaths stutter. Sealing my lips to hold back my cry, I shatter around his hand.
My knees buckle. I sink a few inches before I’m saved from falling to the floor in orgasmic bliss by a strong arm snaking around my waist.
Still attempting to catch my breath, I'm twirled around until the window presses against my back. Heavy lids fight to stay open, only to widen at Trey’s lips sealed around those three glorious fingers.
“Now,” he states after sucking every last drop of me off those long digits. “Go negotiate world peace. But you will not commit to anything without talking to me and Tank first. Understand?”
Unable to speak, I respond with a simple nod.
“Good.”
I’m still blissed out as Trey makes quick work of tucking my dress shirt back into my trousers and refastening the zipper and clasp. After a retreating step, he gives me an approving nod at his work and lifts his gaze to meet mine. “I'm on shift tonight, but how about we pick this back up tomorrow night?”
Again all I can do is nod. I have something tomorrow night, a dinner with a foreign dignitary or a fundraiser of some kind, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but seeing him again. I have to find balance in this role or it will eat me alive.
And the only thing I want eating me is Trey fucking Benson.
“I'll assign our top analysts to this issue as soon as I get back to Langley.”
The CIA directors’ cold hand slips from mine as I step back with a confident smile. “Thank you, Director. I cannot emphasize enough that the sooner we find those responsible, the better. Time is ticking, and it is not on our side. Keep me updated on your findings.”
With a quick nod, he makes for the door.
“Oh, by the way,” I say, making him pause. “I have a new agent assigned to my alpha Secret Service team. They mentioned he came from the CIA.” Okay, that’s a tiny lie. No one confirmed my suspicion on Agent Smith, but the director doesn't need to know that. Hell, who knows, he might smell the lie itself. Wonder if the CIA chemically alters their agents to detect lies to make them smell a certain way. If a lie did have a smell, I’m sure it would 100 percent smell like black licorice. “Nasty stuff.”
“Excuse me?” The director narrows his brows my direction.
“Sorry, I meant to say his name is Agent Smith. Heard of him?”
Something was off about Agent Smith that day in the Secret Service director’s office three days ago that still nags at me. Or maybe it was her, the way she already had his file and him there ready to infiltrate my team. Even her body language changed after the mention of the new agent.
Or maybe I'm paranoid. Let’s face it, I’ve kind of had a rough go the last year with Shawn trying to poison me and Kyle abducting Taeler. Add in Kyle's mysterious suicide and being very aware that Shawn is out there somewhere plotting to take me down by harming someone—or hell, knowing him, everyone—I love, I think being paranoid is warranted. We've done what we could to keep everyone safe. We relocated Mom to a different recovery center with better security that’s off the grid. And of course I moved Taeler into the White House for her safety.
Ben refused the small protection detail I offered him on the slim chance Shawn would go after him. He’s a damn fool, not understanding how awful Shawn is at the core, but I can't force protection on him; it was his choice to decline help. Tiny, my old boss in Austin, laughed at the idea of having bodyguards. In the end, he said if someone wanted to hurt me through him, it was their funeral.
Is it bad to hope Shawn does target Tiny so he could make good on his threat and take out the sociopath? I could get Tiny out of jail, pardon him or something if he got caught. Or even use the angle of Tiny doing a public service in getting rid of Shawn Whit.
“We have over three hundred Agent Smiths, Madam President.” His forced smile is cold and calculating, resembling the one Shawn always wore when he thought he had the upper hand. I force myself not to flinch away. “Not that I would confirm or deny that anyone was once an agent.”
“Right, of course. I just wanted to vet him before he starts in a few days.”
A look of confusion flashes across his features, breaking the emotionless mask, before he turns. Hand on the doorknob, he pauses to glance over his shoulder, brows furrowed. For the past hour, he's been unreadable, not once balking at the information I offered about Kyle and the situation we’re now in because of him. The potential of war didn’t affect him, yet right now, something like worry or concern seems to radiate off him. “I will say this, Madam President. It would be the first time ever in my long career that we willingly transferred someone from our exclusive agency. If I were in your position, I'd ask why.”
I’m still staring at the door long after he's gone. Still staring when it swings open minutes later and Blake strides through, head down, eyes focused on the iPad in his hands. He doesn’t look up when he stops beside me behind the desk.
“We have a problem,” he states.
I massage both temples to ease the impending headache before running a hand through my loose hair. “Why do I feel like that phrase is your signature opening line?”
“Because it is. Look at this.” Spinning the device, he shoves it forward, thrusting it inches from my nose. I shoot him a glare before leaning back to see the screen. It takes a few blinks to moisten my eyes, shifting the soft contacts around to see the small print.
See it but can’t read the words. Hell, what does he think I am, an elephant?
Or wait, is it rabbits with good eyesight and elephants with good hearing?
“Memory, maybe?” I mumble.
Blake lets out an exasperated sigh and shoves the screen close once again, determined to make me read the fine print.
Giving up on reading, I shove the iPad away until the screen presses against the vest of his three-piece suit.
“Just tell me what it says, Blake. It's been a long damn day.”
“It's noon.”
“Fuck,” I groan, drawing out each letter in agony.
“Back to the topic at hand, Madam President. Some reporter put two and two together about the ob-gyn making frequent visits to the White House. This article is listed on a small website now, but a larger site—hell, maybe a network—will pick it up. Soon.”
“What are you getting at, Blake?�
� I tap the spacebar to wake my sleeping laptop.
“They suspect that you, the president, are pregnant, not your daughter. This is bad. We knew it would get out, and now we’re behind the media on this.”
My breath catches, my fingers hovering over the keyboard as a million different outcomes of this mess filter through. None of them good, for me or for Taeler. I’m already known as the trailer trash president in this city, things printed about me in the papers personal and vicious. What will they do to Taeler? I swallow hard and start typing, trying to push the worst-case scenarios from my thoughts.
“Let them assume what they want. Even if I were pregnant—which you know I'm not—it would be my business, not theirs. When did this role mean the president’s private life was fair game for attacks?”
“Your business is their business, Madam President. It's part of the job. It always has been and always will be. You’re the leader of this country, and how you and your family members conduct yourselves reflects directly on the American people.”
The rounded edge of the wooden desk digs into my forearms as I flex, balling my hands into tight fists. My knuckles protest under the strain, the skin of my palms pinched under long nails indenting crescent moon shapes.
“It's fine. We have bigger things to worry about.” Slowly I relax my fingers one by one, the blood flowing freely back to the tips. “Anything else? I’ve got real problems to solve before my next meeting.”
The weight of his glare doesn’t go unnoticed. “You can't push this issue under the rug for long. The story won't go away and will only get bigger if we do nothing. We need to address it now.”
“What would you suggest I do? Tell them it’s not me who’s pregnant but my daughter? My daughter who's still reeling with emotions from the death of her boyfriend and father of her unborn baby? Let her shoulder all the negative and fucking vicious media attention, all the taunts and name-calling and shaming that I’ve kept her from since I stepped into this city? You think I want that for my only daughter?” Elbows on the armrests of the chair, I cover my face with both hands.
“It's too late for avoidance. If we come out about her pregnancy now, we can control the message and—”
“I said no, Blake.” Heat sweeps beneath my skin as my temper rises. “I understand where you're coming from, I do, but you're not looking at it from a mother’s perspective. My job above any other is to protect her and now my grandbaby. Taeler is still in the early stages of pregnancy, and I will not have her upset, jeopardizing either of their health. My answer is no. Ignore the post. I sure as hell will.”
A knock at the door prevents him from continuing the argument. The side office door swings open, my secretary’s hand still on the door handle as she shuffles to the side, allowing Trey, T, and—
I narrow my eyes at the ice storm of a man who's right on their heels.
Blake grumbles his discontent about… well, probably everything to do with me, then exits the Oval Office, slamming the door behind him.
“Agent Smith,” I grit out. “I wasn’t aware you were joining us for this meeting today.” I swing an accusing glare at T.
The annoying new agent doesn’t say a word as he takes a position along the back wall, where he no doubt has a perfect view of every square inch of this room, and interlaces his fingers in front of his hips. It's concerning the way he blends in with the wall despite the fact that it's some awful yellow color, which I'm told is soothing, and he's wearing a dark gray suit.
“Our director made it clear that he's now our third wheel.” If T’s looks could kill, Agent Smith would be a pile of ashes right about now.
“Fourth,” I say, drawing T’s attention back to me. A line forms between his dark bushy brows. “You, me, Trouble, and now Agent Smith.” Again my attention swings to the unassuming man with his back against the wall. “We need a nickname for him if he's going to be part of the squad.”
“Squad?” The laughter in Trey's voice makes a corner of my lips turn upward even with the shitty day I’ve had.
“Tribe?” I retort.
“How about protection detail?”
“Always so serious, T.” Pushing up from the desk, I arch my feet to stand on my tiptoes and stretch both arms high above my head. “In other news, a small blog caught wind of the type of doctor who’s been frequenting the White House. It's not that big of a deal now, but it might be. I want extra security on Taeler if she ventures outside the gates. Her next appointment is next week, but I’ll make sure the doctor continues to come here.” T’s thumbs fly across his phone screen, I assume taking notes. “Also I met with the director of the CIA this morning.” Keeping my head tilted toward T, I monitor Agent Smith's reaction in my periphery. “He understands what I need done and will keep me updated while we’re overseas.”
Trey clears his throat with an attention-seeking cough. “Which is why Tank and I needed to meet with you today. There are a few details on the logistics of next week’s trip we need to cover. We also need to discuss any changes in your behaviors or routine since you were at One Observatory Circle.”
I look to the ceiling like I'm concentrating. “Let's see, I've picked up smoking again, which Trouble is aware of.” I shoot Trey a wink. “I work a little more and sleep a lot less.”
“Not sure that's even possible,” T grumbles.
“And I've pretty much given up on eating an actual meal at a dinner table outside of diplomatic dinner parties.”
“So the same, then,” Trey says with a smirk. “Just a little extra now.”
“Sounds about right.”
Our eyes stay locked as Tank rattles off a list of preparations for the upcoming trip to Saudi Arabia. The weight of Agent Smith's gaze burns the skin along the back of my neck as I creep toward Trey, who's posted up alongside the desk, hip digging into the edge. “Hi,” I whisper once I'm close.
“Mess.”
“What do we do about him?” I incline my head toward Agent Smith. “Can we act normal?”
“You mean can we make out in front of him?” He lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “Only one way to find out.” A quick twist and I'm pinned between him and the desk, Trey's mouth sealed to my own. His lips thin, spreading into a smile as he flicks his humor-filled gaze from me to the back of the room. My wide eyes follow.
Agent Smith blinks, the only sign he's not dead or a robot, before shifting his attention to the empty center of the room once again.
“See, he doesn’t mind,” Trey says, pressing one last peck to the corner of my lips.
I frown, my brows furrowing and forming a deep line between them. “You're okay with that?” I question Agent Smith while wagging a finger between my chest and Trey's.
“Sure,” he responds.
“Really?” I rest both hands on my hips and angle my chest toward him. “You're okay with me being romantically involved with an agent?”
“Are you?” he questions.
“Well, yeah.”
He lifts a single brow.
“You're not going to lecture me on how this is a terrible idea or how I'm putting myself in danger or whatever?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you're tasked with protecting me.”
He tilts his head as if he's considering me. “I'm tasked with protecting you from external threats, not from yourself.”
“Harsh,” I huff. “But okay, noted. Just so you know, whatever you see or hear is not to be disclosed to anyone outside of the people in this room. The director seems to want you around me at all times like these two, so that means you'll be privy to my personal life and… quirks.”
“She mean's varying levels of crazy, an obsession for unicorns, and sometimes responding out loud to conversations that she creates in her head.” Humor laces Trey’s voice.
“Thanks?” Smiling, I shake my head and fold both arms across my chest. The silk material of my shirt slides beneath my forearms. “I'd like to disagree, but… Trey’s assessment is pretty accurate.” P
itching forward, I smack my palms to my thighs and stand. “Now that the gang is back together, let's go save the world.”
Trey clears his throat with a pointed look.
I roll my eyes. “Sorry. Once you guys approve my every breath and step while on this world peace adventure, of course. Then we save the world.”
T’s and Trey’s chuckles fill the room.
I stare at Agent Smith, hoping it will give me insight into his nonexistent personality. He really needs a nickname. “Are you as controlling as these two?” I ask while hooking a thumb in the direction of the two other men in the room.
A hint of a smile lifts the corner of his lips. “Worse.”
Awesome.
Chapter Eleven
Trey
Every muscle twitches on a hair trigger, ready for action. Energy-fueled blood thrums through my veins, heightening every instinct honed by the agency’s training and hours of self-practice. It’s not just me either. Our entire team is like a live wire twitching along the floor, our instincts heightened, knowing what’s at stake tonight and where we are.
Not only is Randi's life in peril in this foreign country but the safety and peace of our country as well. If something were to happen to her while we’re here, all hell would break loose, probably resulting in nuclear war.
This is why we're ultravigilant tonight. Why I haven't taken my eyes off her since she stepped from her suite all dolled up for tonight’s banquet with her as the honored guest. It was on the agenda, so we knew to plan for this, but knowing and actually being here are two very different feelings.
Possessiveness rears its ugly head the farther down the hall we walk. I can’t let my emotions and feelings for her warp my attention. With an internal punch to the balls, I shove those personal feelings aside and focus on treating her like any other politician. It's a fucking losing battle though when her ass looks like that. After scanning the area, my gaze lands on her delectable ass. That fucking gown leaves nothing to the imagination.
Power Surge: Power Play Series Book 4 Page 12