President Daddy: A Dark Daddy Romance

by Hamel, B. B.

  “You like watching me fuck you?” he asks, pulling my hair.

  I gasp. “Yes,” I moan. “I love your body. I love staring at your skin.”

  “I know you do,” he growls in my ear. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re hungry for it, for my big fucking cock deep inside your tight little cunt.”

  He roughly fucks me, slamming into me. I groan, backing against him. He pulls harder on my hair, harder on my wrists, shoving me against him.

  Intense pleasure and pain roll through me. I don’t know where one starts and the other stops, and I don’t think I care. I’m completely blank, completely empty.

  The only thing I want is for him to fill me back up.

  He slams his cock, thrusting inside. I roll my hips, riding back along his shaft. He groans and lets me do the work. I get up on my knees, face in my comforter, working myself back along his massive cock.

  I work him harder and faster. I want him deep in my core, slamming against me, filling my every inch, I’m overflowing with him, filled to the brim, and all I want is more.

  I’m greedy for him, I’m starving for him. He’s water and I’m dying of thirst.

  It feels so fucking good I could scream.

  And I do. Except I’m panting his name. “Daddy, oh, fuck, President Daddy.”

  He growls at this, fucks me harder in response. He’s merciless, intense, undaunted. I love a big, strong man, and he’s the biggest I’ve ever had.

  He rocks into me. Just when I don’t think I can handle anymore, he pulls back, sits on the edge of the bed, and drags me on top of him.

  I straddle his cock and slowly sink down. He makes me ride him, untying my hands and letting me balance myself with them. He uses the tie to push into my mouth, not tying it off like a gag, but letting the ends hang loose.

  I bite down onto it. I like the taste of the silk on my tongue.

  I ride his cock, hands on his legs, working myself up and down his shaft. I grind my clit against him as he slaps my ass, lifts my shirt up, teases my breasts and nipples.

  I groan and bear down on him, grinding my hips harder, his cock buried inside me. He pulls me down, closer to him, kissing me as he starts to work his hips, grinding against me.

  “Fuck,” I whisper, pleasure peaking through my body. It’s like electricity, riding along my skin. My eyes are turning black, my world dripping into a pinpoint of pure pleasure.

  I ride him harder, grinding away, getting into that rhythm. I know what it means, the rhythm that I can’t stop, like a pulse inside my chest. He keeps up with me, whispers in my ear. “Fucking come for me, Maggie,” he says. “Come for your Daddy, you dirty fucking girl. Come on my big, fat cock.”

  I gasp, groaning. I work faster, sweat on my skin.

  I come hard, my hands squeezing his legs, my teeth biting down on the tie. I groan through it, rolling my hips and he moves with me, rolling at my pace.

  Slowly I start to finish. He rolls me over, pushing me down onto my back.

  “You’re not done yet,” he says, smirking. He pulls the tie from my lips and kisses me.

  I groan as he fucks me, rough and steady. I know what he wants, and I want it just as badly.

  “Fill me, Daddy,” I moan for him. I want him to come deep inside of me, leave himself inside my tight little pussy.

  He strokes harder, harder, fucking me rough. His whole body tenses, and I can feel him coming.

  He fills me, coming deep inside my pussy. I gasp and arch my back, loving the sensation.

  When he finishes, I roll him onto his back. I lean against his chest, listening to his heart beating.

  He kisses the top of my head.

  “I missed you,” he says softly.

  “I doubt it. You were in France.”

  “Fuck the French.”

  I laugh softly and kiss him again.

  We stay like that for a while, longer than I would’ve guessed. But by the time two in the morning rolls around, he slips out of bed. I watch him dress. He leaves with only a kiss on my lips and nothing else.

  I’m left alone in my bed, his body still lingering, his impression still in my sheets.

  16

  Adam

  I’m in the residence the following morning, enjoying a late breakfast for once in my fucking life.

  I can still practically taste Maggie on my lips when Ramirez knocks softly. “Sir, your press secretary is here.”

  I frown. “Mason?”

  Ramirez nods.

  “Send him in,” I say, putting down my newspaper. I sip my coffee as Mason comes into my private living room, standing near the door.

  It’s around ten in the morning, and I can tell he’s been working for a few hours already. He frowns, looking uncomfortable.

  “Mason, how are you? Coffee?”

  “Fine, sir. No, thank you.”

  “Sit down. You’re making me fucking nervous.”

  He hesitates, but takes a seat across from me. “I’ve been on the phone with Linda Torres all morning,” he blurts out.

  I stare for a second and slowly put my cup of coffee down. “Okay,” I say slowly. “What did she say?”

  “Sir, I don’t think I can kill this story. I’m sorry. I tried, I really did. I offered her whatever she wanted, offered her access, interviews—”

  “What story?” I cut him off.

  He looks away. “About Maggie.”

  I sit there, stock-still. I didn’t think Linda had enough to publish, at least not yet. Otherwise, she would have.

  “What changed?” I ask him softly.

  “She says she has very credible evidence of a meeting last night,” he says slowly. “She says she has photographic proof.”

  “Fuck,” I say out loud.

  Mason winces. I guess I just confirmed it for him.

  “Sir, this is bad. This is very bad. She says she’s trying to protect Maggie.”

  “By dragging her into the fucking spotlight?” I stand up, pacing away. Anger rolls through my whole body. “She’s not in danger from me, she’s in danger from that fucking stupid journalist.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Mason says, standing. “I tried to stop her. I tried to explain.”

  I whirl on him. “You’re fucking fired. Go pack your shit.”

  He stares. “Sir, I—”

  “Mason, if you say one more thing, I swear to fucking shit I will make sure you don’t land in some cozy fucking lobbyist job after all this is over. Do you hear me?”

  He hesitates but nods, looking resigned.

  “Good. Now get the fuck out.”

  He leaves without another word. I’m left alone in my residence, staring at the wall, trying not to tear it to pieces.

  That fucking asshole Linda Torres. She thinks I’m taking advantage of Maggie, that I’m doing something horrible. Really, we have a real relationship, as strange as it might be.

  But no, I’m the fucking President. I don’t deserve an ounce of happiness, not in this miserable life.

  I ball my fists and slowly relax them.

  I made a mistake. I can admit it. I should’ve done this sooner.

  Ramirez looks up as I open the door. “Get Charles,” I say.

  He nods and leaves without a word. I storm back into my residence and finish my fucking coffee.

  Charles comes up a few minutes later. He looks angry. “You fired Mason? You can’t just—”

  “Charles,” I say coldly, staring at him. “If you don’t shut your mouth and sit down right now, you’re next.”

  He hesitates, clearly taken off guard. “Adam—”

  “Sit the fuck down.”

  He stands there, clearly annoyed, but does as I ask. He sits and glares at me.

  “In all my years—”

  “Fire everyone,” I tell him.

  He stares.

  “Fire every single Secret Service agent on my detail, except those that weren’t with me last night and Ramirez. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” he says.
<
br />   “I’m cleaning house, Charles. More cabinet members are next.”

  “Why?” he asks, exasperated. “They didn’t leak—”

  “They haven’t done shit,” I snap at him, “I hired these people to do something worthwhile, but it’s just been more of the same. We’re starting over, Charles. And this time, we’re bringing in people that’ll make a difference.”

  He doesn’t say anything at first. We sit there, staring at each other. I know the old Marine is trying to decide whether he wants to support this or not.

  I don’t need him. I don’t care.

  I have Maggie. And I’m the fucking President.

  Finally, he takes a deep breath.

  “Start with Susie,” he says.

  I blink, surprised. “My secretary?”

  “Never trusted her. We’ll fire the agents discreetly over a few days.”

  “Okay,” I say, nodding.

  He looks grim. “As for the others, well… let’s find replacements before heads roll.”

  “Get on it.”

  “I will.” He hesitates. “Are you sure about this, Adam? All for a girl?”

  “No, Charles. Not for a girl.” I stand up. “For the fucking country.”

  He sighs. “You’re so melodramatic.”

  I grin at him, shrug a little. “I know. Kills on TV, though.”

  “Sure does.” He gets up, grumbling to himself. “I’ll get on all this.”

  “Good.”

  He nods and leaves.

  I stand there, staring out, down the long hallway.

  I’m staring at the wreckage of my presidency.

  I can see it hanging in the balance. One wrong move and we’re finished. Linda Torres can bring it all crashing down.

  I made a mistake. I never should’ve gone to see Maggie last night. I should’ve been safer, more discreet.

  But it doesn’t matter now. I did what I did because I’m an idiot.

  She said it herself though. We have a chance to make a real difference. I can’t risk that.

  I need to be better, be stronger. I need to figure my shit out.

  And Maggie is a distraction.

  The thought kills me. Breaks me.

  I can’t be weak now. I’m the fucking President.

  I take a deep breath and let it out.

  Time to get to work.

  17

  Maggie

  It’s like a bomb went off in the White House.

  Everyone’s traumatized. It’s like they’re still recovering, limping around, jumping at every noise. People are on edge.

  All because the President is cleaning house.

  He didn’t do anything halfway. One day, we were all buzzing along like normal, and the next, heads were rolling.

  It started with senior staff, but it wasn’t exclusive to them.

  He fired his secretary. Half his security detail. His personal chef.

  And policy people. Half our department, wiped out, with no replacements in sight.

  Iris survived, fortunately.

  “What do you think?” she asks me.

  We’re sitting in the office, staring at the empty desks. “Spooky,” I admit.

  “Scary, really.” She makes a face. “I almost wish I were next. I hate this.”

  “I know,” I say, sighing.

  I don’t understand what Adam is thinking. The press is talking about nothing but all these changes in the executive branch, and they’re not saying anything good. Nobody is even mentioning healthcare anymore.

  Maybe that’s what he wanted. Distract from the negativity, sneak through reform.

  But that can’t be right. Adam has to know that would never really work, and there’s too much at stake not to do it right.

  Iris keeps talking about how we’re working in a graveyard, and I can’t act like she’s wrong. It really is a graveyard, and I think I’d probably quit if it weren’t for my attachment to the President.

  Although he hasn’t spoken to me or looked in my direction or acted like we’ve ever known each other past a professional setting.

  We get some work done, but not a whole lot. I consider working late, but I decide to head home. Nobody’s around and I heard the President isn’t even in the White House at all. Apparently he’s traveling, though nobody knows where.

  As I’m heading outside toward the metro, a woman detaches herself from a nearby building and walks close to me. I frown at her, trying to place her face.

  “Maggie?” she asks me.

  I clench my jaw. “I’m not interested,” I say.

  Linda Torres gives me a wry little smile. “You don’t even know what I’m here to say.”

  “I know you want to keep asking me questions and I’m not interested.”

  She sighs. She looks tired, stressed. Her hair’s pulled back in a tight bun and there are bags under her eyes.

  But she doesn’t look like the evil reporter I half expected her to be.

  “Please, sit down with me,” she says. “Just one cup of coffee. We can talk off the record.”

  I hesitate. “I’m not interested.”

  “Please. I might be able to tell you a little about what’s going on.”

  I hesitate, slowing my walk.

  It’s tempting. I haven’t heard from Adam in nearly a week. I’m desperate for news, for some sign of what’s happening around me.

  I’m more than a little freaked, if I’m honest. I don’t know if my job’s safe, I don’t know if Adam’s safe. I don’t know if he’s giving up on healthcare and moving on from me completely.

  Everything we’ve said. Everything we’ve done. And total silence from him.

  I sigh. “One coffee. Off the record.”

  She nods. “Okay, let’s go.”

  I follow her to this little hipster place around the corner. She orders a decaf and I ask for an Americano. We get our drinks and sit in a corner.

  Linda glances around, wincing a little bit. “I remember when this place was a bookstore.”

  I frown. “I’m sure it’s changed a lot here.”

  “It sure has,” she says softly before looking back at me. “How are you, Maggie?”

  I shrug. “Fine. Look, I’m only here to hear what you have to say about these firings, okay? I’m not interested in small talk.”

  “Okay,” she says. “I get that. But I’m serious, I really want to know if you’re okay?”

  I narrow my eyes. She actually seems sincere. “I’m fine,” I say. “Honestly. Why are you concerned?”

  She shrugs and looks away. “I know about you and the President.”

  I stare at her. Anger rises through me, and I stand up.

  “Please,” she says quickly, reaching out. “Don’t leave. Just hear me out.”

  I stare at her. “There is nothing going on,” I say.

  “Okay,” she answers. “Still hear me out.”

  I hesitate before slowly sitting down.

  “I have a source close to the President.” She sighs. “Well, I had a source. He was in his security detail, but he was transferred, so I guess that’s over.”

  My mind starts whirling. He was right, he was totally right.

  I stare at her, keeping silent. I don’t want to speak and risk getting myself in trouble. Or, worse, getting Adam in trouble.

  She bites her lip. “He was worried about you. I’m worried about you. I mean, a relationship with the President is a big deal. Women have been hurts by Presidents in the past, seriously hurt, and I don’t want to see it happen to you.”

  I laugh sharply. “Don’t pretend this is about me, Linda.”

  She looks taken aback but sighs, like I genuinely hurt her. “I see why you’d think that. You don’t know me. But I’m a survivor too, you know. I’ve spent most of my journalistic career researching and taking down predatory men, and I’m afraid you’re about to be just one more victim I can’t save.”

  I stare at her, not sure what to say. I suddenly start to understand where she’s co
ming from, at least a little bit.

  She’s a crusader. She believes in what she’s doing.

  Saving women is a worthy cause. Taking care of victims, punishing their attackers, all of that is worthwhile. A person like Linda is necessary if big, powerful men are going to be held accountable.

  But that isn’t what’s happening here. And I can’t explain that without admitting that I’m seeing the President.

  And I definitely can’t do that. At the end of the day, she’s a reporter.

  “I want to help you,” she says.

  “I don’t need help,” I quickly cut in.

  “Are you sure? My source, he said the President was seeing you often, and—”

  “I don’t need help,” I repeat seriously. “Look, I understand what you’re trying to do. I really do, and I get that it’s important. But that isn’t me.”

  “They never think it’s them,” she says softly. “Not at first, anyway.”

  “Linda.” I stare at her. “It’s not me.”

  She smiles sadly. “Has he spoken to you lately?”

  I glare at her, but I don’t respond.

  “I didn’t think so. This shakeup is happening because of me.”

  “How?” I ask sharply.

  “I told him that I’m writing a story about the two of you. I told him that I’m going to release it soon. I guess this is his response.”

  I stare at her. Anger rolls through me again, anger and disbelief.

  I don’t understand why this woman would attack Adam. I mean, I can see why she might believe I’m in trouble, but she’s so far from the truth. She won’t even listen when I tell her that I don’t need her help.

  “I have proof of the two of you,” she says, reaching into her bag. She takes out a stack of pictures.

  I stare at them. It’s Adam, standing outside of my apartment. I open the door, he comes inside, I shut it behind him.

  I lean back in my chair, devastated.

  “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I really am.”

  “You’re going to publish those?”

  “I’m thinking about it,” she says. “I don’t want to include these pictures. I don’t want to include your name, even. That is, if you’ll agree to work with me.”