The President's Wife

by Kathy Myme

  My eyes widen in horror. “You locked Trevor up. There’s no need to be this extreme. I’m not your prisoner. I’m helping you out of my own free will.” I swallow tightly. “Look at me while you speak, David.”

  “You agreed to assist this administration. If people think the President lets his fiancée remain vulnerable, even for a second, then that harms the administration.” Still no eye contact. His pupils look darker than their usual blue, almost black from where I’m standing.

  “No.” I shake my head. “Is that all you care about? Protecting this administration?”

  “What else would I care about?”

  “I’m not your prisoner, David,” I repeat firmly. “I don’t belong to you.”

  A second passes. I breathe in. And then he snaps.

  His lips are on mine, needy and forceful.

  “David-” I squeak, but he hushes me by pressing his lips to mine more hungrily.

  It’s as if he’s an animal unleashed from his cage. I don’t know this man. The cool, reserved President I’m familiar with is nowhere to be found.

  I’m not sure who loses balance first, him or me. But the next thing I know is that he’s spinning me around, pushing me firmly against the desk. His leg slips in between my thighs roughly, pinning me forcefully to the spot.

  He’s still kissing me in a manner so wholly desperate that you’d think he’d die if he stopped even for a second. This is nothing at all like the kiss we shared in the restaurant earlier. That kiss was perfectly manufactured, so controlled and premeditated. He’d weighed out every inch of passion he’d put into it like he was rationing it.

  This kiss is the furthest thing from that possible. It’s all need and desire and hot, flushed heat.

  The way he touches me is almost animalistic. The way his palms explore the curve of my thighs and the contours of my body is violent and possessive. If I’m looking for tenderness, I don’t find any. There’s no room for slow, tender passion here.

  “David,” I pant, somehow managing to speak against his lips. “What are you doing? We’re alone-”

  We’re alone. We’re alone and there’s no need for him to be doing this to me.

  Those words sink in slowly… as do their implications. Because if the President doesn’t have a convenient excuse as to why he is bending me over my desk and sticking his tongue down my mouth…

  He’s doing it because he wants to.

  He makes a low noise against my ear, almost like a growl. “Take it back.”

  “Take what back?”

  “You belong to me, Veronica.” His lips are on my neck, sucking and kissing and biting. Every press of them feels like an electric current going through me. “Do you understand?”

  David Shepard, President of the United States. David Shepard, five-time winner of the New State Monthly’s ‘hottest celebrity eye candy’ competition. David Shepard, my boss.

  The man who wants me.

  The man who I want as well. It’s almost embarrassing how much I need him. The dull ache in the pit of my belly that I’ve always felt around him… it’s desire.

  “Do you understand?” His voice is low and thrumming. Powerful.

  “Yes,” I whisper back, softly. “I’m yours.”

  He grabs me by the chin. “Say the words.”

  “I belong to you.”

  He moans fiercely. I have no idea why, but I’ve pleased him.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “but I’m going to have to fuck you now.” He breathes shakily. “Hard.”

  And then he presses himself against me. Presses his whole body against me. I feel what’s waiting for me as it rubs against my stomach through our clothes. Something hard.

  His hands move down my body, hungrily roaming across every piece of me he can find. I can’t help the way I shiver as he moves his hands across my breasts.

  When his hands slip under the straps on my dress and cup them through my bra, I moan. David makes an impatient noise at my reaction, slipping a thumb underneath the lingerie there. The tip brushes against my nipple.

  “You must do it on purpose.” David coaxes the most sensitive parts of my breasts with circular motions. “Fuck, Veronica. Have you been sent here to drive me insane?”

  I squirm, melting under his touch. “I-”

  But he doesn’t let me finish. His hands move downwards, closer and closer to where I want them to be most. To the part of me that needs him and only him to touch me.

  “There are consequences to your actions.” His voice is hard. “This is your punishment.”

  There’s no hesitation, not like when he was stroking my inner thigh in the restaurant. His hand explores the folds of my dress until it’s laying flat against the outline of my underwear, cupping me.

  “Fuck, you’re wet,” he exclaims, shock flooding his voice. “So fucking wet for me.”

  Maybe if I’d given it any thought I might be embarrassed or shy, but David gives me no time. His fingers rub me in that same maddening circular pattern, separated only from my naked sex by a piece of flimsy cotton.

  I can’t control myself. I press myself against him, enjoying the friction of his fingers against my clit.

  “Tell me you submit to me,” David orders me. But underneath the sternness of his words, there’s something pleading about his voice too. “Tell me just how much you need me to fuck you right here.”

  I need him. “Yes, Mr President.”

  It’s like pulling a secret switch. If I’d thought he was desperate before, now he’s unstoppable. David’s hands peel off my underwear, picking it up and throwing it far away.

  I hate that he stops touching me, even for just a moment. But my entire body shudders with anticipation as he unzips his trousers. For a second, his hand lingers over his leather belt as if he might undress, but it’s vetoed almost instantly. Instead, his hands reach through his underwear to pull out his cock.

  He pins my wrists down onto the desk, locking them in place there.

  And then the tip of his cock, bare and already wet with pre-cum, pushes itself up against my entrance.

  In a fluid motion, he thrusts forwards and fills me. My mouth drops open into a perfect little ‘o’. It’s not painful exactly, but a lot bigger than what I’m used to. Of course I’d felt Trevor whenever we’d slept together. But I’d never felt dominated like this, stretched to the inner core.

  A voice in the back of my head wants to panic: slow down, Veronica. What are you doing? He’s not wearing a condom? You’re fucking the President on a desk?

  But her cries are drowned out by how fucking right this feels.

  Once David starts moving, I know with certainty that no force in the world could get him to stop. And there’s nothing in the universe that would make me want him to.

  I’m overcome with a primal need, fueled by his every thrust. I can faintly feel the edge of the desk digging into my back, but the pain is non-existent. The only thing in the world that matters is the movement of his body against mine.

  “You’re going to come for me.” David grabs me by the hips, pulling me onto him. It’s another order.

  That’s all I need. I obey the President’s orders and come as he fucks me, feeling my body unravel itself in absolute pleasure. I am undone.

  “Fuck-” His breath is short and ragged. “Fuck, you make me-”

  He slams into me, the tip of his cock pressing up against my deepest parts. When he comes, I feel it: hot and warm, exploding inside of me.

  Fuck.

  I close my eyes. The entire world reels around me. The only thing that grounds me is the feeling of him still inside of me. The warmth of his spent body against my own. His hands are still clutching my hips as if he needs me there.

  When I look again, he looks wild. His dark curls hang loose around his face, dampened by a light layer of sweat. He’s watching me with a hawkish intensity, eyes trained on my face. When he swallows tightly, I watch every muscle in his throat tense up.

  When he steps backward an
d zips up his trousers, I remember to breathe again.

  We both stare at each other, thinking the same thing: who’s going to be the first to break the silence?

  When David manages to speak, his voice is hoarse. “I-” He breaks our locked stare. “I have to go.”

  I flinch. “W… what?”

  “I have to go,” he says, more firmly this time. He runs a hand through his curls as if he can hide the blatant sex hair.

  “Sorry? You have to go?”

  We need to talk about this. Whatever just happened… has to mean something.

  “I have meetings to get to.” He’s stepping backward. Retreating. He’s leaving and I can’t stop him. “I’m sorry for… well, all of this evening, Miss Waters.”

  Miss Waters. My last name again. Like it’s a defensive shield he’s put back up.

  He slips out through the door before I can say another word.

  I sink to the floor, clinging to the edges of my black dress. What the hell just happened?

  Veronica

  By the time I’ve taken a shower - a really long shower - and brushed my teeth, I’m more than ready for bed. It’s as if I’m in a state of half-shock, moving as though I’m possessed by reflex alone rather than any real control.

  The scene replays itself in my mind at least a dozen times before I find sleep. They’re enough to drive me mad, half with lust and half with confusion.

  David and I slept together. That’s the truth of it, any way I look at it. I’d made love with the President of the United States. I pray to God that none of the security outside my door had heard a thing. These walls better be soundproof.

  I lie awake for what feels like hours, trying to make sense of it all.

  The way David had touched me… the way he’d needed me… It’s nothing like what I’d expected. It was raw. Primal.

  So Trevor was right, then, a cruel voice in the back of my mind whispers. You certainly didn’t put up a fight the second the President wanted you.

  Trevor. Oh, Trevor. I’m not sure how to feel about him in the slightest, and the worry alone might finish me off. He might be sick… he might even have tried to hurt me… but he’d been my boyfriend for years. We’ve been together for what feels like forever.

  I suppose we’d never technically broken up, but then I don’t think there’s any coming back from what he did to me. What he tried to do.

  If Stephanie had been the person behind giving him my location, then maybe I should be worried about her too. But after a quick google search, it looks as if her profile has been taken down from the ClickBoom News website and all her public social media accounts are missing…

  And as for Trevor, there are already several headlines popping up on my phone. ‘CRAZED LUNATIC ATTACKS VERONICA WATERS ON EVENING STROLL’.

  Thank god nobody has identified the connection between Trevor and me. I’m almost certain the President must have paid off people back in Cali not to talk about it. Trevor and I don’t have many mutual friends, even though we went to school together. It’s a side effect of having very little in common, even if we’d sometimes enjoyed one another’s company.

  Sleep makes me feel somewhat better, I think. It’s at least a short break from my over-anxious mind.

  Or it would have been… if not for the dreams. Who else do I dream of but David? He slips into bed with me, his skin bare and naked against my own. We explore each other’s bodies with our hands and mouths, able to take all the time in the world to learn each other.

  When I wake up, it stings to be alone.

  When Jackson presents me with my schedule for the morning, I’m not very pleased.

  “I was attacked yesterday night,” I remind him. “A guy literally held a knife to me and threatened my life. I don’t want to sit in a room and think about etiquette.”

  “It can’t be helped, I’m afraid,” Jackson says, watching me get dressed. I’m comfortable enough around him to get changed. There really isn’t room to value privacy here. “You have a morning breakfast to attend with the ambassador from the United Kingdom and her husband.”

  My mouth drops open. “A meeting? The President will be there?”

  “It’s a formality that will be expected of you quite often,” Jackson confirms. “It’s an important duty of the First Lady to assist her president in times of need.”

  I can’t help the way my cheeks tint themselves red at that comment. Yeah, I’d certainly ‘assisted’ the President last night…

  The idea of seeing him again this morning is equal parts thrilling and horrific. How am I ever going to look him in the eye again? How is he ever going to look me in the eye again?

  It’s obvious from the way he left that something’s wrong. Do I want to discover what?

  If Jackson notices the way I start preening and re-examining my outfit again on the mention of the President, he doesn’t comment. Besides, David is meant to be my fiancée. If I want to look nice for him, why should that raise any eyebrows?

  “Are you ready?” Jackson asks. “We should attend as soon as possible.”

  I apply a coat of mascara. My war paint. “Ready.”

  The march down to the dining room seems to take forever. I’m yet to eat in there since most meals have just been brought to my suite on demand.

  It feels far too grand for a meal so simple as breakfast. In the middle of the room, there is a long ornate table with an embroidered white tablecloth. Silver dishes hidden by their lids run amok all the way from one end to the other, blending together in a metallic sea.

  The sight of David at the table makes my belly do several backflips. He’s looking immaculate today, but then what did I expect? His shirt is crisp, his blazer perfectly pressed. The wildness in his eyes has been stripped away and been replaced by quiet sensibility.

  There are two figures sitting alongside him. An older couple, their hair beginning to show splashes of grey. The man is incredibly average, with a kind looking face and an upright back. The woman is awfully glamorous, which is positively obscene to be over breakfast. I swear I can’t even walk in a straight line until I’ve had my coffee.

  “Hello,” I say, oddly nervous. My eyes flicker to David far too often, but he’s looking at a spot near my head rather than at me. “My name is Veronica. How do you do?”

  I cringe at my own words. ‘How do you do’? It’s like my brain reverted to a 1920’s maid.

  “Veronica Waters, yes?” The woman is first to speak, holding her hand out for me to shake. “You’re…” Her eyes trail to David.

  “This is my lovely fiancée, yes,” he says, smiling broadly. In a second, he’s risen from his place at the table and is standing up to place his arm around me. “Veronica, darling, I’d like you to meet Emily and Harry Reginald. Emily is the ambassador from the United Kingdom.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say softly. What on earth are you meant to say in situations like this?

  More importantly, what are you supposed to say when the President’s arm is around your shoulders? The warmth of him is enough to send my body haywire.

  But he still hasn’t even looked at me properly.

  “Take a seat, Veronica,” David continues, pulling out a chair for me. It’s the seat furthest away from his own. “We were just about to dig in.”

  Once we’re all sitting, Emily wastes no time. “I hope you don’t mind me talking about it, Veronica, but I have to admit that there are a lot of rumors going on around you at the moment. Every newspaper I read seems to have your face on it.”

  “That’s the price you pay for agreeing to marry the President, I suppose,” her husband chuckles softly. “No offense, Shepard.”

  “None taken.” David smiles thinly. “I don’t think I’d be so quick to marry me in her place.”

  “And what’s all this I hear about an attack last night?” Emily asks, looking between us. “David, am I right in hearing that some crazed lunatic attacked your lovely companion here?”

  Something in Davi
d’s brow seems to twitch with displeasure at the memory. “Yes, there was an incident that occurred when Miss Waters here went walking unattended. I can assure everyone that it won’t happen again.”

  He’s still angry at me about running off, I can tell. But could that be why he left last night? Something about it doesn’t seem plausible. He’d been angry, sure. But he’d also been willing to talk to me.

  The David of today won’t even look me in the eyes.

  Waiters come to dish out the breakfast offerings before us. It’s quite the feast. A stack of pancakes, towering over everything around them. Fresh fruit in every different shade of red, yellow, blue, and green you can think of. French toast that’s still steaming with warmth.

  I let them serve me some blueberries and pancakes. I never can resist that combo.

  “I’m very curious about you,” Emily says to me. “Will you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

  “Um, yeah,” I say, every lesson of etiquette training I’ve received going straight out of the window. “I’m from California. I actually only just graduated from college very recently.”

  “So there’s a bit of an age gap between the two of you, then?” Harry asks the President.

  “I’m barely thirty.” That’s the grumpiest I’ve ever heard David sound. “She’s twenty-four.”

  “How did you and the President meet?” Emily asks, a hand under her chin.

  Oh god. We’ve never discussed this question, not since I made something up at the press conference? I look at David but he still won’t make eye contact with me. How am I meant to pull this off alone?

  I pause. “Um-”

  “Through friends, several years ago.” David’s voice doesn’t waver. “Our engagement is somewhat recent, though.”

  Yeah, like ‘last night’ kind of recent. I try to side-eye him.

  “How romantic,” Emily says, squeezing my shoulder. “I have to say, I’m relieved. From what the papers are saying, it sounded as if you seduced your intern, David.”

  His brow is firm. “I believe the White House has made it clear that Miss Waters was simply listed as an intern to allow her access, not that she was an actual intern.”